Too Close for Comfort
by Ellisaed
Summary: After a terrorizing mission, Obi-Wan Kenobi struggles with his new found fear, and a new found friend, one with a mysterious past, all the while trying to keep his friendship with her a secret from his Master. Please R
1. Fears and Findings

"Must we stay Master?" Obi-Wan said, not in protest but faint annoyance.

Qui-Gon glanced to his Padawan, looking down ever so slightly to his young charge, and gave a nod, "If we are to find the suspect, we must first acquaintance ourselves with the suspicious."

"Such a powerful metaphor Master, but is it relevant when we are dealing with so many suspicious beings?"

Qui-Gon did not reprimand the tone, but replied calmly and firmly, "Relevant or not, this is our acquired task, remember. It must be accomplished somehow."

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan kept his temper close in check, continuing to follow behind his Master through the thrush of people. The air around him was warm and thick, being constantly used and reused, and he was surprised there still was oxygen left. The lateness of the hour seemed not to bother the attendees, and it would be an understatement to say it was a busy night.

A steady beat resounded in his ears, the one some of the beings danced to in a slight clearing ahead, and the remaining noise consisted of loud conversation, the ringing of slot machines and the buzz of vidscreens. Obi-Wan was forced to shout over the noise, "When you said it may be crowded, I didn't think you meant hundreds upon hundreds."

"Neither did I."

"Couldn't we have come when it wasn't so . . . busy?" Obi-Wan winced as his foot was stepped on for the seventh time.

Qui-Gon smiled, his blue eyes creasing at the edges, peeking out from the lip of his cap, "This is a very popular club, Padawan, one of the most popular on Coruscant. It is always busy."

"Of course, Master. Whatever you say." Obi-Wan sighed to himself, raising a hand to his collar to ensure his buttons were secure strictly to the top. The outfit he wore was constricting, unlike the freeness of his Jedi tunic, and Obi-Wan found it uncomfortable to move about in.

The navy blue suit was custom tailored as was his Masters matching one, equipped with silvery brass buttons, high strap boots and a snug black-lipped cap. In Obi-Wan's opinion, his Master did not look too far from being a lieutenant, though he himself felt only like a cadet. Obi-Wan casually touched his right ear, tucking his Padawan braid safely under his cap again, and then put the hand in the same pocket, aching for the feeling of his lightsabers cool, familiar casing.

If all other regularities failed, his lightsaber would comfort him, instilling confidence by simply having it at his hip. Unfortunately, Qui-Gon had assured him it would not be needed, and that it would blow their cover, and a blaster was in its place. Their cover, the Master had insisted, was the most crucial part of their task.

_Stay here, Padawan. _

Obi-Wan heard Qui-Gon's voice ring in his mind, and he reluctantly slowed his pace to a stop, watching his Master drift and slip into the dim lights of the club, and the expanse of the crowd. _Are you sure?_

_Yes, Obi-Wan. Keep searching._

Nothing was wrong, Obi-Wan knew, but things were beginning to roll. He flicked his young eyes through the crowd, recognizing diplomats and senators amongst other high-society beings. Wealth, power, class – he could see it in their makeup laced eyes and expensive headdresses, their tone of voice and sound of laughter. He could not yet see the senator they were searching for, the one he needed to see: Thor-Chio Dawn, representative of Lordar-3.

After an assassination attempt, many if not all targeted victims went into hiding; doing otherwise was very ill-advised. Thus was the case with Senator Dawn, after nearly being poisoned in his home one-month prior. A Senate leave had been granted with fervor, but neither the leave nor the senator's protection was the problem.

Senator Dawn, maybe renewed with a sense of freedom or possibly assassinated truly, had not returned within his allotted two-week span, and after the fourth week passed, the Senate had grown alarmed.

The Council of Twelve had been very willing to intervene on the Senator's behalf, nearly too willing in Ob-Wan's eyes. The Jedi, for obvious and well-proven reasons, usually evaded political problems, hasty to avoid being thrown into the Republics eye. The Jedi were, as all Padawan's Obi-Wan's age knew by then, peacekeepers, not problem solvers or security measures for the Republic in times of desperation, which was often times what they unwillingly became.

Obi-Wan personally agreed, knowing full well that even the most honest, sincere diplomat was not to be trusted. The disappearance of Senator Dawn came as no surprise to him, and he had not been very eager when the Council had assigned his Master and him the task of finding the Senator.

Master Yoda had insisted that the task was crucial, and a funny look in his green eyes had appeared at the words; Obi-Wan figured the Council knew something he did not, for they most often did. The little Master had also mentioned briefly, privately to Obi-Wan alone, of a heightened attentiveness, an unwavering devotion to training Obi-Wan would require for the mission. Obi-Wan never wavered, and for it to be requested of him confused the Padawan. What would he find that could waver him? Would he waver?

Qui-Gon had assured him that he was one of the most dedicated youth he knew; save for the Melida/Daan crisis, and he had been fully devoted to the Order without fail. One mission could not change years of discipline and training. Could it?

Obi-Wan shoved the thoughts away, focusing in on his task at hand; he didn't have the time for another "be mindful of your thoughts" lecture. He squinted, still unable to see the senator, annoyingly being shoved by the rambunctious beings around him. No wonder he didn't go to nightclubs. His Master, though, had seemed to be enjoying himself. Obi-Wan was eager to find the senator and leave. _Before I'm suffocated to death._

Qui-Gon had been sure to check and recheck the location Thor-Chio Dawn was to be multiple times: the Crystal Enchantment, a nightclub for the high-class citizens of the galaxy, a place to gamble and taste the latest cuisine and interact with the aristocratic, Waitresses bustled about with platters of expensive entrees, beings mulled about the bar to the Padawan's left, and watched the pod and blob races on the vidscreens to his right.

The security level was top notch but Jedi were prohibited due to political disagreements. Somewhere between five hundred to one thousand beings passed through on a slow night, and tonight there was at least that. The club was substantial size wise, but even so the place was packed. The close-knit bustle of people unnerved Obi-Wan, discouraged him. Again he attempted to shut out thoughts, but these ones lingered, were stronger and much more difficult to rid.

Only two weeks ago he and his Master had been on a mission on a rugged mountainous planet, assisting with a civilian revolt in order to prevent a tyranny. To make a long story short, the government had illegally attacked the citizens, who lived in the deep caves close to the core of the planet, while they were there, and after a major detonation to the caverns system, a serious cave-in had threatened their lives.

Being underground was one thing Obi-Wan had disliked the entire mission, but after the cave-in he hadn't been able to handle it. Ever since he was a boy he had been a bit claustrophobic, and he had thought he'd grown out of it until the recent mission. Something in the core of him had ached as the beings had shoved him and were gathered so close constantly. He had been tempted to run away or curl up close to himself and wait for it to end. He had not told his Master of his discomfort then, and hadn't still. Qui-Gon and him had worked for hours bustling out civilians through man made escape routes, the people screaming and yelling and some trapped beneath the rocks; there had been so many stuck and crying for help, so many left behind to die.

At one point, seeing a little girl struggling from beneath a rubble pile, screaming for her mother who was pushed out of the child's reach, watching her silence and shudder a last weak breath, he was pushed past the brink of his tolerance. He had felt his breath stop and his head spin, his stomach had felt hollow and intensely ill, and he had slipped unconscious. Upon awakening, safe in their escape shuttle, he had insisted to his Master he had only hit his head. Qui-Gon, though Obi-Wan suspected he knew better, had accepted the explanation. After such a harrowing experience the Order had let them take a small break from missions, and this was their first mission since then.

The thoughts had broken the Padawan into a sweat, and Obi-Wan wiped his brow, using his breathing techniques to calm himself, fidgeting with his collar. This mission renewed the sense of terror he had experienced, a feeling he had never wished to feel again. He could not let the thoughts control him. Despite his lingering discomfort in the crowd, the small space, the renewed feelings, he had to control his fear. He was not a boy; he would be a Knight someday, if not soon.

_A little claustrophobia never killed anyone_, he though ruefully, pressing further into the crowd a bit and attuning his senses sharper. Suddenly, the bustling group cleared and became individuals, giving him relief, if only for a moment's time. Yet, he still could not pinpoint any being that may be Senator Dawn. Strolling, or at least trying to, further forward, Obi-Wan spotted his Master from sitting at the bar in the distance, chatting with two young waitresses.

Qui-Gon smiled as one of them touched his false badges, insignias of Ansion, and they both seemed intensely interested in him, as did he with them. The Padawan rolled his eyes, _Great. More pathetic life forms _–

A presence approached him from behind, and Obi-Wan turned to see another waitress in a close fitting dress shoving a platter under his nose, "Appetizer, sir?'

Obi-Wan shook his head, turning about again to assess the crowd –

"Please, I insist." The waitress tapped his shoulder, and Obi-Wan reluctantly faced her, "They're soma crackers with our signature smoked offar meat in a blasel sauce."

It sounded – and smelled – delicious, but Obi-Wan again refused, "No, thank you –"

"Are you new here?"

Obi-Wan shifted his feet, seeing in the girl's eyes that she was not just looking to give away food, but to gain his attention. Her dark eyes sparked with attraction, and Obi-Wan wasn't sure exactly how to respond to it. He kept his tone cool, though inwardly he was warm with quick thinking, "Yes, first time."

"No wonder; you look nervous." Her voice was bubbly and kind, and her giggle lit up her eyes.

Obi-Wan cursed himself for being so transparent, and emitted confidence, then, in his voice, even if it was forced, "This place makes me anxious, being so new and all."

"I know. Lots of people. I'm new too." The girl outstretched her free hand, "Emalie."

"Ben." Obi-Wan took the offered hand and kissed it lightly. He decided he'd play off of her attraction to him, if only for help. Qui-Gon did that sort of thing all the time – attracted life forms of seemingly little use and put them to it. It couldn't be that hard, could it? "You're eyes are beautiful."

The waitress quickly blushed, "Are you a general?"

"A cadet. My father's here with me, he's the general. We're from Ansion." He explained the cover story naturally, with no skips, like he had rehearsed.

"Well Ben, the entertainment begins soon. Have you found a table?"

_Table?_ Obi-Wan was baffled that there were enough room for anything else in the place, but shook his head, "Not yet –"

Emalie grabbed his arm and pulled him through the crowd. Obi-Wan nearly tripped over his own feet, let alone the hundreds of other shuffling about, as she led him along, still attentively searching for the Senator. His eyes stopped on another sight. Emalie slowed before a set of stairs leading to a round dip in the floor, a circled in area of tables and chairs before a round stage. The lighting was blue and hazy and sophistication eked through. Many beings already sat at the tables, other waitresses serving food, waiting for the entertainment to begin.

"Come, I'll show you the best place to sit." She tugged at him again, and directed him toward a table ear the front and center. "Here's where the rich people watch. It must have good acoustics."

Emalie took a seat, and Obi-Wan followed her lead once again. He asked curiously, as she leaned her elbow, which supported the platter, on the table, "Doesn't your arm get sore from carrying that thing?"

"Are you kidding? I'm surprised I haven't been hospitalized yet, and this is only my third day here." She set down her platter, "Are you sure you don't want any?"

Obi-Wan's stomach, though very unruly didn't speak louder than his mind, though it was a tough battle, "No. I've eaten. I don't mean to offend you –"

"No, no." She refused, though Obi-Wan could tell she was, a bit. Qui-Gon had said not to even touch the food or drinks; the suspicion of another poisoning was eminent.

An odd silence, which wasn't truly silent amidst the banter people noises, fell between them, and Obi-Wan let it. Silence was one of his favorite sounds.

"How old are you?" Emalie asked, though she continued, "I'm guessing . . . eighteen."

Obi-Wan didn't correct her. He was only just recently sixteen, "And you?"

"Eighteen. Did you study on Coruscant? Oh right, you're from Ansion. I did, though. Just finished."

Obi-Wan listened to her vaguely as she continued speaking, his attention shot elsewhere to an approaching presence. He looked casually over Emalie's shoulder to see an opulently dressed Togrutan male, followed by three waitresses and an entourage of other attendants, take a seat at the table a few feet behind him. Obi-Wan quickly scanned the Senator's Force essence, and found neither fear not anxiety, which was a good thing. He spoke quickly to his Master through their bond, _In my sights. Should I do anything further?_

In an instant the Master responded, and Obi-Wan could nearly hear the voice speaking to him audibly, _No. Let me do the dirty work._

_The dirty work always seems to be the fun work, Master._ Obi- Wan falsely complained.

Qui-Gon replied, _Fun, my serious Padawan? I am appalled such a word is permitted into your vocabulary. _

_Only because of you Master –_

"Ben?"

Obi-Wan looked back to Emalie, apologetically as he saw the concerned expression on her face, "Sorry, I was distracted."

"Are you alright? You want some water?" Emalie touched his arm gently ash she rose, "Just one minute. Stay here, alright?"

"Alright." Obi-Wan didn't bother to stop her, for he wasn't sure he would have been able to if he tried.

Just as Emalie left, an announcer cam over the loud speakers, a male with a very fluent voice, "Welcome enchantment seekers! Tonight for our special entertainment was have a favorite of ours, a master of the keys, a twister of melodies, an all-around crowd pleaser! Please give a warm welcome to one of our very own . . . ."

At the name, Obi-Wan turned, his throat catching and heart slowing at the sight. Little did he know he would never forget the moment, not for his entire life, as the speaker uttered the name.

". . . Wisper Morro!"


	2. Questions without Answers

The curtains pulled back on the little stage to reveal a young woman and an instrument made up of many keys. She wore a glittering blue gown and headdress, and Obi-Wan could tell by the way the crowd hushed, the way the club itself seemed to hold its breath, that she was no amateur. Obi-Wan, strangely enough, could not remove his eyes from the sight of her.

She began playing softly, simply, with a single dark melody; the sound was crisp and smooth, and as it grew thicker and louder Obi-Wan found himself intensely entranced. He was not one against music, he enjoyed it. But he rarely often . . . _felt_ things by hearing it, as he was then.

"Like her?" Obi-Wan was startled somewhat at Emalie's voice, distracted enough to not sense her approach. She set a glass of an orangey drink on the table, sitting and pulling her chair closer to Obi-Wan's to speak softly in his ear, "They call her Wisper because when she plays, the club members can't help but do so. This is the quietest it gets all night. Hundreds of people, all shut up for one girl. Barvy, isn't it?"

Obi-Wan nodded, not willing to risk his voice covering the music. The notes she played glittered with intense clarity, the rhythm pulsing evenly, nearly in time with the heartbeat that seems to blare intrusively in Obi-Wan's ears. Subtly, he could feel her presence on the Force was bright, which sparked curiosity in the Padawan: was she Force-sensitive?

"Where is she from?" He asked under his breath.

Emalie shrugged, "Don't know. Came when she was just a kid and played with her parents in nightclubs and things. Don't know what happened to them, but they made her pretty famous. She lives here, now, on Coruscant. That's all I know of her."

Another silence pierced only by a few weak, final notes was soon enveloped in applause and cheers as she finished. She took a bow before strolling offstage, and the announcer introduced the next act. She was gone.

"Can . . . I meet her?" Obi-Wan asked, the music of the next performance drowning his speech, and Emalie frowned, speaking over the noise the best she could, "Why would you want to do that?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Her pout deepened. _Jealousy_, he thought, seeing such then in Emalie's eyes, and he said reassuringly, "Don't worry, I'll be back, if you'll wait for me."

Emalie's face lit in a smile, the previous emotion forgotten, and "She's back stage, the third dressing room. Don't keep me waiting."

Obi-Wan gave her a nod, glancing back to the Senator momentarily before making his way behind stage. His Master had said he would do the dirty work, but Obi-Wan felt uneasy leaving the Senator alone. The feeling was diminished under the fascination he had toward the girl. Something in the Force seemed to nudge him along, to hint to him softly. Obi-Wan was not an expert in the ways of the Living Force, but now he seemed to feel it close to him. His Master's teachings were rubbing off on him. A stab of guilt pierced him again but he eased it.

_I'll only be a minute_, he insisted, entering the darkness of the crowded hall, pressing through the bunches of future performers. He could see only silhouettes, glimpse of painted faces and scintillating costumes, and could smell alcohol around him like a fog. The club was only a few steps above the sleaziness of a cantina, and it was proved then to Obi-Wan that it was hardly that.

Finding the third room, with a flimsy sign marked "Wisper Morro – Do Not Enter" stuck on the outside, the Padawan knocked quickly, eager to escape the crowded hall.

A muffled cry cam for the opposite side of the door, "Come in!"

Obi-Wan opened it slowly, stepping into the bright lights of the dressing room. A rack of sparkling and gowns was shoved to the left, and a small cot covered in music sheets held the other end. It felt cozy and comforting, like she dwelled there often. In the center was a vanity surrounded by bright bulbs, before which a young girl sat unpinning a large blue headdress from her head.

Ob-Wan cleared his throat when she did not notice him, and she looked at him in the reflection of the mirror only, "Whom are you?"

"I . . . Ben, I'm B-Ben." The stutter happened without realization, and Obi-Wan shook his head as if to shake it off and forced a cover smile. _Come on, Kenobi_, he told himself, _don't look foolish_.

The girl smiled back, unamused, "Great, listen, I don't do autographs, holographs, or holorecordings. I'll take five questions, maximum."

"What?"

"Well, aren't you here to interview me?" She turned then, and Obi-Wan could see for the first time her liquid green eyes. He paused for a moment, weighing out his options, "Yes, yes of course."

"Take a seat, then. I'll give you ten minutes." Wisper gestured to a small footstool aside the bed, and Obi-Wan sat on it unenthusiastically, feeling and looking ridiculous. He could tell she did this often, and her respect for journalists seemed to have faded likewise. Obi-Wan found himself annoyed by how she shrugged him off. He didn't usually care if others liked him or what they thought of him, at least beings he had no connection to. She made him feel worthless.

Nevertheless, he straightened his jacket and sat tall, not willing to make a fool of himself despite her efforts, "Alright Miss Morro, first question."

Obi-Wan watched her finally pull her headdress loose, revealing fall of auburn hair. He hesitated as she ran her fingers through it slowly, combing into the softness of it –

"Hello?" Wisper called, and Obi-Wan snapped himself back. She stared at him impatiently, her brows drawn close, "I'd tell you to take a holograph if I could – it lasts longer."

"Apologies." Obi-Wan fought to keep a straight face. _Focus_! He told himself, the word hinting the tone of his Master's voice when he'd call on the boy during saber practice after receiving a sting on the chest. Obi-Wan cleared his throat, "What is your real name?"

Wisper's face hardened, "How do you know my name isn't really Wisper Morro?"

"I'm asking the questions, miss." Obi-Wan smiled to himself at her frustration.

Wisper heaved a furious sigh, "My name's Lystra. It means 'song of the waters.'"

Lystra. Yes, he could see it in her emerald eyes, the soft expression she wore then, and asked, "May I call you Lystra?"

Though he could see by her tensed expression that she was annoyed, Obi-Wan could not sense such. He extended his senses toward her inquisitively, and found her mind guarded slightly by force of will; whatever she knew about the Jedi, she still used to her advantage. Likewise, Obi-Wan shielded himself, figuring if she could do one thing, she most likely could do another, and had no desire to have her probe his own mind.

"If that's question number two, then sure." Wisper rose, placing her headdress on a shelf lined with other colorful headpieces, "If not, then never."

"Let's say not." Obi-Wan watched her gather scattered flimsy sheets and dishes on the floor and commented lightly, "I suppose you're not always this tidy?"

"You should see my apartment." Wisper gathered a bunch of sheets and dumped them into her closet. "But that's besides the point."

"Alright, question two: where were you born?"

"Corellia. Next?"

"How long have you been playing music on Coruscant?"

"Since I was seven."

"So . . ."

"Eight years."

"Quite. Question four . . . ." Obi-Wan's words faded as Wisper began to unzip her long dress. She noticed his eyes and scoffed, slipping behind a tall concealer, "What?"

"N-nothing."

"You didn't think I'd just strip in front of you, did you?"

"No." Obi-Wan tried to control his flaming cheeks, "Of course not."

She peeked out a bit, enough to see the bare of her shoulders, "Unless you'd like me to –"

"No!" He nearly shouted, and took a breath, "No, don't. I'm not here for any of that."

"I was kidding." Wisper smiled gently, seeming sorry for the joke, seeing the redness on the former's face, "I didn't mean to . . . upset you."

"I'm not upset." Obi-Wan didn't personally admire her pointing out his discomfort, and he quashed his embarrassment, _So much for not making a fool of myself._ "Question four: are you familiar with Jedi studies?"

Wisper's voice was confused, "Jedi? Like what? I know who they are."

"Yes, but you haven't..." He couldn't flat out _ask_ her - he was a journalist, still, not a Jedi, "...taken lessons or learned anything?"

The hesitation sparked curiosity into a flame in Obi-Wans chest, and Wisper gave him a look, amused why the matter seemed so crucial to him, "I've done my research."

"That isn't an answer."

"Yes, then. And that's all you will know."

Obi-Wan was relieved she could not see the expression of interest on his face, "Perfect. Alright, final question: when can I interview you further?"

Wisper revealed herself from the concealer, dressed then in a loose scarlet shimmersilk dress that collected just below her feet, sitting at her vanity again and removing her dangling cerulean jewels earrings, "It depends. I'm here all week. Are you truly that interested in me?"

"Of course. I'm sure I'm not the first."

She scoffed, "You wish. Most of the others only come back asking for holos, which I don't do, or business deals, which I also do not do."

"No worries Miss Morro, I only wish to speak with you more. Maybe as a friend instead of a reporter," Obi-Wan rose and she turned to looks at him, eyes deeper than before, "I don't do friendship." All that mushy relationship stuff doesn't ever work out for me."

"Maybe you have not yet found a true friend." Obi-Wan shrugged, "Or maybe you haven't been trying."

"Am I supposed to trust you or something?" Wisper narrowed her eyes, and Obi wan could feel in the force her shields harden as did the gaze upon him, "Because I don't do that either."

Obi-Wan could see in her tense eyes faint reflection of a lesson learned about trust, the hard way, he figured. Her caution was not foolish, but a bit more than instinctive, more practiced. She had experience with liars and cheaters and swindlers and advantage takers, all the sleazy no good inhabitants of the lower levels.

But something, something she did not and probably would not tell him was seen, and as Obi wan studied her gaze he noticed a scar at the corner of her eyelid, thin and faint, trailing down the side of her cheek until her earlobe. She must have covered it with make up, he supposed, musing how it looked almost like a permanent tear trail on her delicate, otherwise unblemished, skin.

Seeing her still firm expression, Obi-Wan proposed half jokingly, "Why don't you interview me, then, and I'll prove to you I'm trustworthy?"

Wisper didn't hesitate, "Tomorrow. I'm free then."

_Great, look what I've gotten myself into_. Obi Wan's mind raced for a minute, calculating when or how he could escape the temple tomorrow, between the saber practice and scheduled sparring be had with Garen, the meditation session he had promised his Master - and wasn't he supposed to assist the Crèche Masters with the infant initiates nightly schedule?

The opportunity would not likely happen twice - if he didn't accept, she'd assume he lost interest, and she still did not trust him. It would be trivial to sacrifice his duties to see her. _Sacrifices_, he thought, _for what? This girl I barely know, who happens to know a thing or two about the Force, and could possibly be a Jedi herself?_

"Tomorrow." Obi-Wan decided without second thought, "But don't be offended if I can't make it."

"Other plans?"

"Other priorities."

Wisper nodded, holding out her hand. Obi-Wan blinked, leaning forward to see one of her earrings resting there, and she said gently, "To remember me by."

"But...You're missing one now."

"You'll have to return it to me then, won't you?" Wisper smiled at her own clever thinking.

Obi-Wan took it, tucking it gently into his pocket and unpinning one of his badges to give to her, a small round crest with shiny green designs around a roaring, winged creature, "And this one to me - it is my fathers, so be sure to keep it safe."

"Yes, I will." Her tone was genuine, the first hint of it Obi-Wan had heard.

"May I call you Lystra now?"

Wisper bit her lip, "Yes. Consider yourself lucky."

Obi-Wan felt oddly honored at the gesture, sensing her relax her shielding. He relaxed his also to allow her to feel his appreciation and honesty -

_Padawan_!

Obi-Wan flinched, hearing his Master's voice speak through their bond in a current of alarm.

_Obi-Wan?_

Obi-Wan switched his attention in seconds, _Yes Master?_

_I've been calling you - you've had your shields up!_

"Blast." Obi wan said audibly and Wisper giggled. He realized how stony his expression had become, how serious.

"What's wrong?" she laughed, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I wish -"

_Padawan_!

Obi-Wan cursed himself, _Yes Master, I was distracted -_

_No time for that; where is the Senator?_

_Where I left him_, he almost replied, but instead said, _the entertainment area, fifth table from the front. _

_Are you monitoring him?_

Obi Wan's hesitation told all.

_Where are you Padawan?_

The boy could feel the tense frustration in the inaudible tone, and glanced to Wisper, seeing the concerned confusion in his odd silence, and hesitated yet again.

"One moment." he said to her, turning to face the opposite wall. His Master spoke through the link shortly, "Where are you?"

"Close by-"

"Where Padawan?"

"...Back stage of the entertainment area."

"And you left the Senator unattended?"

Obi-Wan hated how his master always found a way to squeeze the truth from him- or may be how he couldn't help but tell it, "I only meant to be a few minutes-"

"And so does the Senator, and whoever is here trying to kill him. You have endangered not only the mission but the Senators life, the club members and our own because of your lack of focus. You must always be attentive, my apprentice. What if you were hurt? I had no idea where you were or what was happening. Your carelessness has caused you to forget our purpose here, and make things more difficult for us."

"I thought...I though you said you'd handle things."

"Not alone - and that is no excuse for you to run off and shut me away. I suspect you've had a good reason to be shielding me?"

Wisper shifted, and Obi-Wan sighed, knowing she could detect the intent of their conversation, Force sensitive or not, "No Father, not a good one."

At the cover name, Qui-Gon took realization, "Whom are you with, Obi-Wan?"

He reflexively looked over his should at her, "I...it's, I'm - she's just a performer."

"I see. A _performer_."

The indication was palpable, and Obi-Wan shook his head, "Master, its not like that, she isn't - I'm just-"

"Alone with a woman in a nightclub, shielding your Master from you for no good reason?"

Any explanation was useless then, any apology, though he yearned to express both. His Master was more than upset, and had every right to be. Shame trickled through his voice as Obi-Wan whispered, "What must I do Master?"

"I am currently on the opposite side of the club. I need you to find the Senator and approach him. I've acquired information that leads me to believe an assassination attempt will occur on Thor-Chio Dawn, and whatever may or may not happen will happen very soon. Make haste, young one." The tone was nowhere close to lighthearted.

"Yes, Master." Not even a goodbye, a "we will speak of this later", or a hint of forgiveness was heard as the link closed. Obi-Wan shoved his comm back into his pocket, turning back toward a concerned Wisper who still watched him intently. She did not even ask, waving a hand toward the door with an understanding smile, "Go on, then. We'll talk tomorrow"

With one final apologetic look to her, Obi-Wan nodded, taking off into the hallway and shoving hastily through the entertainers with an added urgency. _Please_, he begged, _please let him be there._ He would be in too much trouble to imagine if he'd let the Senator get away. He thought of the punishment: a lengthy lecture, a day or two of intense meditation and studies, exercises like hand-standing and levitating items simultaneously to help him to learn to focus. And of course, the natural but most difficult discipline, his Master's disappointment. Obi-Wan could nearly hear Siri's teasings and Garen's sympathy - both which he personally avoided. He had to resurrect the mission, not only for his sake, but the mission's itself.

Obi-Wan moved quickly, then, to avoid a group of dancers racing past him and he ducked beneath a man with a long wooden instrument fractions of a second later. He imagined the hall was like a small maze, like the obstacle-training course at the Jedi Temple. Obi-Wan remembered times when he had beat his peers in races around the course. His analytic qualities paired up with the split-second thinking acquired from his Master aided him greatly. He was a natural.

Obi-Wan leapt over the legs of stretching contortionists sitting along the floors and slid against the wall past one of the largest beings he'd seen so far. He swiftly crawled beneath a table being lifted through by a group of men and tucked into a roll to stand and again duck beneath the four chairs that followed.

_Almost there,_ Obi-Wan said to himself, pausing for a breath only to be shoved from behind by a passing Rodian male, dressed in a long purple robe adorned with many glittering sequins, which pushed him to the grimy floor headfirst. A wave was felt in the Force, a warning, and Obi-Wan sat up, rubbing is cheek empathetically, to find a blaster suddenly pointed directly at his face.

"Don't -"

It was all he managed before it was fired.


	3. Unravelings

Sorry this one is so short, it's a half-chapter, will upload rest later :) {P.S. thanks for the reviews!}

Obi-Wan reeled from a blow to the head, gasping and pressing his hand to his affected eye. _Blinded_, he supposed, sadly. What a stupid decision to find Wisper in the first place -

When the pain did not increase, Obi-Wan pulled his hand away to see no blood there. The area did not burn, but throbbed like a punch to the face. Realizing that he hadn't been shot, he reopened his eyes to see a very small, dirty child above him clutching a pop-blaster, grinning proudly. Relieved, but still upset, he gave the child a look.

"What did you do that for?" Obi-Wan asked incredulously, already feeling the eye swell. The child shrugged. He could have taught the child a lesson, but rose swiftly; he had better things to be doing. The last stretch of hallway was before him, and she struggled down it now with only one eye to see from, half-colliding into a woman with a long feather boa and the slithering creature entwined with it around her neck. He had no clue how much time he had before the assassination occurred, as his Master had told him, but he hoped later than sooner.

Emerging from the hazy, bustling heat was a relief, but Obi-Wan didn't pause for a breath, immediately scanning the area, panting and pulling stray costume feathers from his lips. The beat of the club music seemed to coincide with his racing heart, and he counted the tables quickly, and his heart stopping when he realized. Table five was empty. Quickly finding his own, with Emalie still sitting there -

"Force," he muttered. He'd left her there for a while. Obi-Wan hoped she wasn't too upset as he made his was quickly and sat down beside her, finding her resting her head in her arms. He saw that she had enjoyed his drink and was tempted to let her sleep, but the urgency of the situation outweighed his opinion. He gave her shoulder a gentle shake, "Emalie..."

Obi-Wan's senses were pierced by laughter, by the heightened volume of the music around him, but most prominently by a sharp warning when she did not awake, or even stir.

"Emalie!" He repeated, touching the bare skin of her arms and realizing it was a bit too cold.

He already knew. Her Force essence was faded. Placing his fingers aside her neck, he felt no thrumming pulse beneath her clammy skin: she hadn't been dead for long. Who would kill her? he questioned, seeing no evidence of struggle or trauma around her. Immedialty, Obi-Wan picked up the glass and raised it to his nose: it smelled fine, but the look of the scintillating remnant drops of liquid spoke clearly in Obi-Wan's ears: poison.

_She tried to poison me_, Obi-Wan took a breath, but countered, _No_. Whoever was behind the plot knew of the Jedi, and did not like them there. Emalie had just been a tool in the plot.

Not willing to endanger the mission further and cause a scene, Obi-Wan left the body be, rising to make his way into the crowd ahead of him. First, though, he extend his senses, an act that still required him a considerable amount of concentration, to find the Senator. Closing his eyes and holding out open palms face down before him, he relaxed his outward senses. This time, unlike the last, he was patient and allowed the Force to guide him instead of using the Force itself.

_There_. Obi-Wan snapped his eyes open Alive, close-by. A relieved panic set in him, and he moved quickly into the throng toward the presence, speaking to his Master through their bond, _Poison found, Senator found. Approaching him now._ Obi-Wan had made it halfway to the bar, past dozens of beings, before he tried speaking to Qui-Gon again, _Master? _He had every right to ignore him. But Qui-Gon never usually shut his apprentice out, not without reason -

_Like I did to him. I deserve it I guess_ -

Alarms cut through Obi-Wan's thoughts and the rambunctious chatter around him sharper than a vibroblade, and the momentary silence soon transformed into terrorized shrieks. Some one cried, "Fire!" and others "Bomb!" but the Padawan knew it was only a planned diversion from the real dilemma: an assassin. Obi-Wan tensed, bracing himself in the crowd that transitioned into a mob faster than a blink, continuing faster toward the Senator. He was shoved and stepped on furiously, but he immersed himself deeper in his task and managed a swifter pace. He had to find him -

The ceiling extinguishers clicked on and the inhabitants were soon showered; Obi-Wan sighed, sensing the crowds furious fear kick up five more notches. The loudspeaker started with evacuation procedures and the club lights flickered and winked and holoscreens blanked out. Glasses and drinks crashed to the floor as did platers and people, and soon one blast was fired, which signalled another, another and too many to count. At the opportunity, some members raided cash machines and registers, some gathered abandoned purses and other stole some from peoples clutches. Screaming was an understatement to the sound heard. It was madness. Obi-Wan raised his own blaster, still rushing against the crowd, not willing to give up.

Ahead, he could sense and finally faintly see Senator Dawn, abandoned then by his entourage, a blaster to his head. Obi-Wan pushed through more to see his captor: a Rodian in a purple gown. _The same one who shoved me_ -

"Stop!" Obi-Wan shouted over the distress, but it was hopeless. He frustratedly raced toward them, but with his injured eye missed the form of an Ithorian to his left and bumped it, receiving a shove to the ground in return. _Not good-_

Obi-Wan hit the floor hard on his forearms and tried to roll to avoid sudden prevailing feet, but a boot caught his sleeve and then his leg, and soon every single part of him. He tried to tuck close to himself, but his phobia caught hold of his mind swiftly, memories rushing in like a thick torrent, chocking him; tears sprang to his eyes at the image of the girl, the sound of her screams, and soon Obi-Wan could not breathe. He closed his eyes in pain and terror, his right hand shed of his blaster and his left clutching to Wisper Morro's cerulean earring, barely hearing himself scream, "_Master_!" before his mind succumbed to darkness.


	4. Time Lost

Obi-Wan's voice cut sharp into Qui-Gon's ears, and the Master was fueled faster at its growing panic. Booted feet slipped almost constantly, making him feel like an awkward apprentice, and beings shoved by him so quickly it seemed they were a blur. He had been fighting the crowd since the time the alarm had set off, and now was desperate as it was doubled over. Qui-Gon's height eased his struggle through the mob, and he pressed through swiftly toward the screams coming from his apprentice, audible still to the mans ears despite the racket around him.

Selective hearing, so to speak, had alerted him of Obi-Wan's predicament, like a mother who listens only for her child's cries. He had shut himself off from the boy out of childish emotion, out of anger and loss of control and ignorance; it had been a stupid, un-Jedi like reaction, one Qui-Gon regretted. Despite his frustration at his Padawan, he had not been able to ignore him in his distress. The fear in Obi-Wan was coming to life after being suppressed, forming a deeper rut and a wider sense of terror, implanting itself like a tick under his skin. Fear, as all Jedi knew and even so the maverick, often unruly, Qui-Gon Jinn, was of the dark side.

Qui-Gon reached the entertainment area and held the railing leading to the tables below to avoid being swept away with the throng, quickly flicking his eyes about and scanning each table. His strode away just as fast, spiting water from his lips and wiping such from his brow. The ceiling extinguishers had soaked Qui-Gon's suit to his skin, weighing it upon him annoyingly, but the Master ignored it. He had been through much worse, as had Obi-Wan alike. Why now had the boy become so vulnerable?

When the scream suddenly hushed, Qui-Gon's anxiety threatened to increase. He was reminded of the nightmares Obi-Wan had experienced, the cold sweats and sleepless nights, the ones the Padawan had tried to hide from his Master, and the same ones the Master had known and ignored. It had not been a wise decision to take the boy, Qui-Gon decided. He had thought his apprentice strong enough, but had overestimated him; _I had given him the choice_, Qui-Gon recalled. He saw the memory of Obi-Wan again before him, in their quarters after dinner just three nights prior, his young face sullen and eyes drawn as the Master spoke to him.

"There will be many people there, Obi-Wan. Hundreds and possibly thousands." Qui-Gon had spoken slowly, not uttering the unsaid words of his apprentices fear but implying such in the tone, "I can imagine a sizeable crowd."

"And?" The question had been a bit sharp, attempting to sound innocent, but Qui-Gon had not been phased. He was very much used to Obi-Wan's way of expressing himself, the subtleties and variations of tone or how the blue eyes would cloud or clear, and had been able to determine the false front instantly. He had also been able to erase it.

"And I trust you, young one, but I can manage on my own if you feel uncomfortable coming."

"No." Had been the swift reply, Obi-Wan raising his eyes that had been staring at his fidgeting feet. The blue eyes were greyed, hinting at an inner warfare, but the gaze had steadied and the telltale voice that made Qui-Gon smile had said, "It won't bother me. I want to help you, Master. Thank you for trusting me."

The boys solemnity had then caused Qui-Gon to chuckle; so intense, so sensible, so much of a contrast to the Master. The words had touched him, still. Yoda had not been senseless after all, introducing the two those few years ago, despite the differences that sometimes assisted them and others caused hindrance. Their differences made them who they were, not as individuals but as a whole, as Master and apprentice. Qui-Gon figured Yoda had known all along.

He had placed a hand atop Obi-Wan's spiky hair and tucked the braid behind the ear there, coaxing a small smile from the Padawan.

"What?" Obi-Wan had asked, sensing the Master's musings. Qui-Gon's smile had softened, "This will be gone soon. I have informed the Council, and they have agreed to allow you to take the trials."

The silence had been momentary, and the boys jaw had dropped.

"Master, I am only fifteen!" The disbelief in Obi-Wan's strained voice was nearly as skeptical as his tense expression, and Qui-Gon had not been able to hold back his laughter. Obi-Wan had joined him moments after, realizing the teasing, laughing along in relief.

So easy the decision had been then, so hasty. The resentment burned deep in Qui-Gon's stomach, remembering then Tahl's words to him after informing her he'd accepted the mission. "Careful, Qui-Gon. You are rushing things. The boy is young. He needs time."

He hadn't given it, and now they would both have to pay for it lost.

Qui-Gon fought back a groan as beings tugged at his arms, pulling him toward the exit, their cries muted in his ears that replayed the sound of Obi-Wan's scream, of which direction he had heard it. Lighting was nonexistent, and the bustling mass of people provided no clarity or sense of direction, thick and tricky like a labyrinth. _Where is Obi-Wan when I need him?_ Qui-Gon questioned desperately, knowing of his Padawan's gift of analytical thinking.

Qui-Gon impatiently pushed forward, his favourite direction, unbuttoning his collar some to allow more air. His cover was useless now, as was the mission compromised. Failure was a heavy burden, one Qui-Gon never wished to bear, but shouldered it then along with regret, regret of decisions made and unmade. If Obi-Wan had not shielded him, the Senator could have been found. If he had not shielded Obi-Wan, the Senator could have been saved. If they had worked cohesively, their task could have been accomplished. But no. "Could haves" were not of the Jedi. Qui-Gon shoved such out of his mind like he shoved his way through the crowd. _The will of the Force prevails_, he told himself, the words feeling stale inside him. He tore off his hat to relieve some of the frustration in him, his greying tan hair falling over his shoulders and behind as he began to run -

Suddenly, he partially spotted a form on the floor curled close, dressed in navy and motionless but being shoved and trampled mercilessly by the mob. He sensed full then the boys suffering. _Because of me_. Qui-Gon, his heart wrenching into a knot, went to move when he sighted Senator Dawn just a few feet away, captive to a Rodian male who gripped his arms behind him, holding a blaster to the senator's head.

Qui-Gon had hesitated only split seconds. The decision had not been an easy one.

Qui-Gon pressed through a few more fleeing beings, kneeling down hurriedly to find his apprentices form and took him into his arms carefully, bruising and dirt and blood on his face in a cruel decoration, standing to see Senator Thor-Chio Dawn disappear into the swarm. Soaking wet, mentally and physically exhausted and still torn with his decision of guilt over duty, Qui-Gon left the Crystal Enchantment in haste. It was nothing to him then, just another sleazy nightclub harboring filthy sins and beings, cheap thrills, deadly choices, and bad experiences. He never wished to return.

But unfortunately for Qui-Gon Jinn, that would not be so.


	5. Choices

"We cannot up the dose until he stabilizes. And from the current readings, he is far from that."

Qui-Gon nodded, his eyes glued to his apprentices form on the cot before him; the coarse, rhythmic moaning coming from the boy brought the Master no ease.

Master Healer Vale Ashtan approached the bedside, his gaze also on Obi-Wan. "We can attempt another trance, but his unconsciousness is what concerns me. I do not want to put him deeper into this state of mind."

"What about . . . did you try to rouse him?"

"No. Doing such would worsen things. His body is like this for a reason, one we do not know of. Internal bleeding, possibly."

Qui-Gon rested his head in his hands for a moment, stroking his bearded face tiredly, fighting with a bout of frustrated fatigue. The sharp scent of sanitation annoyed his senses full well, senses that were annoyed enough as it was, and the brightness of the ward hurt the Master's sore eyes. Adi Gallia, from her position behind him, spoke up then in the silence pierced only by the assortment of beeping equipment, "Are we speaking on terms of moving toward rehabilitation, or of recovery?"

"Of survival, Master Adi. Of whether or not he will awaken and recover, or awaken with brain damage or paralyzed, or if he'll awaken now, or from a coma three days or weeks or months or years from now. Or if he will awaken at all."

The words were dull in Qui-Gon's ears, barely audible as he watched Obi-Wan's chest rise and fall spastically, the breathes escaping him in strained pants.

Of course, his apprentice was hurt. Obi-Wan had been injured many times, sometimes longer than others, just like all the Padawan's his age. He would sprain an ankle, break a finger, suffer minor concussions, each time to recover quickly and continue on. His Padawan could not die, not Obi-Wan Kenobi, the dearest thing Qui-Gon had in his life. No, never.

"Qui-Gon." Master Vale said, and Qui-Gon glanced up to the man's sorry green eyes, the young tense face, the fair hair. The Healer rested his hands on the railing of the cot, letting out a reluctant sigh, "You need to make a choice."

Qui-Gon didn't move, though he could see from the corner of his eye Padawan Sone, a young male Twi'lek Obi-Wan's age, shift uncomfortably from his place behind the Master Healer.

Adi placed a hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder, and he shrugged it it off gently. He felt his frustration rise again inside himself, deep in the spot where he kept all his unneeded, hindering emotions, and he dampened it out just as quickly. He desired no sympathy then. In truth, he never did.

The Healing Halls were quiet that morning, busy with only few patients, and Obi-Wan had been their only emergency the entire night, which was a blessing. Master Healer Vale and his apprentice Sone attended to him, the young one frequently checking the monitors hooked up the Obi-Wan that regularly beeped in distress, and the Master addressing him and giving proper instruction.

Though he had only arrived minutes ago, Qui-Gon had been swiftly informed of Obi-Wan's condition. He had requested to stay the night at the boy's side, but the Healer, seeing Qui-Gon's sopping wet, fatigued condition, refused him, knowing the Master need rest and a good sanisteam. Reluctantly, he had returned to his quarters, showered, and tried to meditate until morning in the Room of One-Thousand Fountains. He felt uncomfortable in the quarters without Obi-Wan with him, fussing with his tunic, fiddling with the puzzle cube that he'd been working on or brewing him sapir tea,. A rueful smile found Qui-Gon's lips at his Padawan's frequent attempts to please; he wished the boy would understand he expected nothing more than what Obi-Wan already was. But then again, his behavior on their mission made him think otherwise.

Last night had been one of the few times Qui-Gon had truly doubted Obi-Wan, something he never had to do. The initial accusation of the boy being somewhere with a woman - alone - and doing things he was forbidden from had been hasty, but reasonable. Young Padawan's often let their raging emotions surpass their duty, if only once or twice, and still continue in the way of the Order, sometimes unnoticed. But hormones and circumstances were no excuse for such foolish conduct, not by a long shot.

Obi-Wan was no fool, that Qui-Gon was sure of, or a liar for that matter, but he was a boy, one becoming a young man very quickly before his eyes. The liberty to make choices, whether right or wrong, was becoming his own. Qui-Gon wished to believe he had done right, for he had seen such done too many times to count; Obi-Wan had always been a bit of a goody-two-shoes when it came to following rules, but emotions were different, especially so given his reaction to his revisited fear.

He had spoken to Tahl for brief moments that morning, hesitantly, for he knew, like usual, she had been right, this time about the boy being unprepared. She didn't mention so, also like usual.

"Now, you must let him heal." She had said gently, placing a hand on Qui-Gon's cheek, "And let your blame fall way, before you wrinkle anymore."

"I am going to look like Master Yoda by the time this boy is a Knight."

Tahl had laughed, and Qui-Gon had allowed himself a chuckle at her amusement, though he had not realized then how much healing the boy would require. Upon his arrival in the Halls, Master Vale had informed him of Obi-Wan's position; Qui-Gon had known instantly at the man's grave tone something was not right. In fact, things were very much so wrong.

After a thorough examination of Obi-Wan, they had found a serious concussion, four broken ribs, a fractured left femur, a sprain to the right shoulder, and multiple lacerations and bruises, including a considerable one to his left eye. He had not awoken from unconsciousness, and after needing to be resuscitated twice in three hours Master Vale had slipped him into an intensive healing trance, nestling the boy deep in the cradle of the Force, in hopes of preserving the fragility of his life.

Master Vale had reluctantly explained the decision needing to be made just minutes prior. The Healers could either keep the boy in the medical centre, monitor him, give him medicine to relieve any pain, and await an awakening that would most likely not occur, or they could remove all monitors and let the boy awaken, which would most likely end tragically.

Qui-Gon doubted he could chose, not after everything that had occured. Guilt ate at him like a hungry krayt dragon, threatening to consume him, guilt for ill-decisions already made, and for horrid consequences that had followed. Now, though, none of that mattered, not until he made things right again. And if he could not . . .

The shrill sounding of monitors caught Qui-Gon's attention, and he sat up a bit to see Master Vale whisper a command to his Padawan after securing the bed restraints around Obi-Wan's shivering frame, addressing the datapad in his hand, comparing readings quietly. Sone watched intently, his timid nature especially apparent around patients, and went to retrieve a small blue vial from a nearby counter, which he promptly fed into the intravenous.

Obi-Wan's moaning had quickened, raised slightly in pitch, at the monitors beeps, and at the receiving of the medicine, worsened. He trembled as if from a chill, like he had done the entire long ride to the Temple the night prior, but it was his fever that caused such then.

Qui-Gon rarely blinked in the bright lights of the ward, studying the young face, the fair skin mottled with bruises and scrapes and sheen with perspiration, trying to remember the way it was before. He spoke to the boy through their bond, though Obi-Wan's end of it was shielded and so distant it felt like finding a fading flicker in a vast ocean, but he tried nevertheless, as he had been doing.

_Obi-Wan . . . you look so sick, now. I can remember when you smiled yesterday in the club, and I didn't know then . . . how thoughtless I had been. I am sorry, my Padawan - _

"Master Jinn, have you decided?" Master Vale's tone was patient, understanding of the stakes of such choice. Qui-Gon's dread caught up with him, and Vale said reassuringly, "My Padawan and I are prepared to handle whatever you choose."

"I trust your ability fully, Master Vale, and that of your apprentice." It was the truth. Master Vale was an exceptional Healer, knowledgeable in the use of natural drugs and remedies, efficient and wise in his ways. Sone, just a few years into his apprenticeship, was already rivaling his Master, young and quick and never one to err. Together, they were a remarkable team. "It seems that it is with only myself that I have doubts."

Qui-Gon grabbed the boys limp hand in his own, bruised and chafed, wishing it would respond to his touch like it usually did. _What would you do, if it were me in your place, Obi-Wan? _

Adi knelt on one knee to meet eyes beside Qui-Gon, her blue gaze soft upon him. Her aura was tense, though, and her voice betrayed the eyes also as she spoke, "I know you probably are not in any place to want to hear this, but it is necessary. I have good news and bad news."

Qui-Gon managed a smile, "Well, let's hear something optimistic first."

"Master Yoda has informed me that they've tracked the Senator down, and he's still on Coruscant. An apartment complex in the lower levels, just blocks away from the Crystal Enchantment, is where they are nearly sure he is."

Qui-Gon waited out her silence before inquiring reluctantly, "And the bad news?"

"There is an intense amount of security, a strict owners only entry policy, an outsiders ban just posted today taking affect, and two men found dead outside of the building this morning."

"A picture of pleasure." Qui-Gon closed his eyes for a moment, scrutinizing information in his mind, "That will make it difficult for me to get in, won't it?"

Adi's hesitation concerned the former Master, "_More_ bad news?"

"Master Yoda . . . has suggested Siri and I to take the mission, Qui-Gon. Your place is here, I can tell."

"No," Qui-Gon stroked the back of the young hand gently, the noises emitting from Obi-Wan paining him, and he repeated more firmly, "No. I need to put to rest what I've started."

"Not before your Padawan is possibly put to rest himself." The comment could have been offensive, but such things were not exchanged between the two. They had known each other long enough to understand when the other was concerned or worried. Adi's bluntness indicated such, and even more so her following sigh.

"I cannot let the person who did this to him . . . escape."

"Meaning you wish to avenge him?"

"Meaning I wish for justice, and letting him get away would only allow other tragedies to take place." Qui-Gon pushed down any hint of revenge in him, "I need to do this."

"Someone must leave as soon as possible, and you have a decision to make that involves life or death."

Master Ashtan spoke up then, in mid-monitoring, "One needing to be made as soon as possible."

Qui-Gon nodded to them both, "It is a choice I have to make, just as I have chosen to end this mission myself."

"You are exhausted, and Obi-Wan, if he doesn't awaken . . . you cannot let your duty surpass your _duty_." Adi gestured to the boy, and a stab of guilt hit him harder than before. This was all his fault-

The hand in Qui-Gon's own tensed, not from response but distress, and the equipment flared in flashing lights and alarms again just like the Force did suddenly; Qui-Gon's stomach sank. Obi-Wan's half-open eyes rolled back hazily into his skull, and his trembling transformed into random thrashing that shook the cot, his moans ceasing into gurgled noises.

Master Vale responded just as swiftly as the distress begun, tightening the restraints over the boys thrashing body, resetting monitors, and barking commands to his Padawan, "Retract that last dose of thoroxide and administer thirty-four milliliters of phirdemal solution - slowly -"

"What's happening?" Qui-Gon demanded, and Adi pulled him gently away from the bedside. His mouth was dry though his eyes were pooled with moisture, and he repeated urgently, "What's happening?"

"Qui-Gon." Adi soothed, and Qui-Gon retracted from her touch again only to be grabbed by the arm and firmly tugged back. She said stonily, catching his gaze to try and steady him, "Do not risk him -"

"Master!" Sone said urgently from his place hunched over Obi-Wan's fighting body. Master Vale, already busy calculating dosages, gave the Padawan a flick of his head in reply.

The apprentice spoke softly then, chancing a glance over his shoulder to Qui-Gon, but the Master heard it clearly, "His vitals are slipping away . . ."

Vale gave a curse, dropping his datapad and standing over the form, hiding his voice also, "Help me deepen his trance."

"But Master, he is too weak already -"

"Shut-up and help me, Sone!" The voice was stern and cold, and the Padawan closed his eyes promptly and placed his hands on Obi-Wan's chest. Qui-Gon panted, as if he'd run for hours, fighting Adi's grip still, agonized at the sight. He spoke urgently to Obi-Wan then, more faithfully than before, as if it may save him. He had to save him.

_Obi-Wan, please wake up, young one. I know you are suffering, it is all my fault, but you must awaken or we will lose you. I cannot lose you - _

The body - why in this state did the boy seem only like a body and not like Obi-Wan?- fought at the restraints, arms flailing at the hands that tried to heal him. Vale shouted, "Sone, get me another dose of merjard's extract and . . ."

The resounding, harmonious beep pierced the other noises. Only momentary glances were exchanged before the Healers sprung to action; Obi-Wan had flatlined.

Those few moments had been some of the most agonizing in Qui-Gon's life. He saw his journey with Obi-Wan flash before his eyes, one far too short. He caught his own breath, speaking to the boy again, watching his struggle before him, _Obi-Wan, listen to me, please listen Obi-Wan - you must awaken - !_

Sudden realization flooded Qui-Gon as he observed Obi-Wan, and he cried as he wrenched away from Adi and began the task himself, "The restraints! Remove the restraints!"

The med team instantly complied, as did Adi, and struggled to quickly undo the clasps, Qui-Gon giving explanation, "The containment distresses him . . ." He pulled the last clip free, "Claustrophobia -"

In the instant afterward, Obi-Wan's eyes opened at the release, inhaling deeply, blue eyes wide and wild with fear and pain, clutching the bed sheets for dear life. Qui-Gon took to his side, relief flooding him at the boys alertness, the ever-so-familiar look on his face of concern. He grabbed the hand again, and this time it grabbed back. The Master could have jumped for joy.

"Heart rate's back," Sone exclaimed, and Master Vale sighed, directing the Padawan to the medicine shelf again as he checked Obi-Wan's pulse and said dryly, "Make that _three_ vials of merjard's."

Obi-Wan's distress did not resolve, his rasping breaths turning into overwhelmed sobs, lips trembling and tears pooling from his eyes. Qui-Gon swallowed back his own tears, smiling to the boy reassuringly.

"Padawan, it's alright, everything's alright . . ." Qui-Gon nearly chuckled, allowing the Master Vale to examine him, and he placed a hand on Obi-Wan's fevered forehead, "You are safe, young one."

Obi-Wan looked up as Master Gallia standing behind Qui-Gon, who said gently, "If I believed in luck, I'd say you had some. But it's the Force that has graced you."

Obi-Wan locked eyes with his Master, a calm settling over him in the Force. His voice was nearly inaudible and coarse from the previous nights screaming, "What . . . h-happened to . . . me?"

"You were trampled, my Padawan. You have broken some bones but you will recover. How do you feel?"

Obi-Wan winced as the Healer's examining hands shifted him, feeling carefully for injuries, and cried out as he touched a tender spot on his ribcage; Master Vale hushed back an apology.

The Padawan opened his eyes again, managing a reply, "It . . . it's like . . . there's bantha's sit- . . . sitting on m-my . . . my chest." The breathing was sporadic and harsh, but Qui-Gon laughed at Obi-Wan's humour, "Never fail to amuse me, do you Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan smiled faintly, his mouth half open, emitting small sounds of pain suddenly as Vale felt touched a protrusion on his bare, bruised chest, and Obi-Wan's eyes squeezed shut as he screamed suddenly. Qui-Gon shot his eyes to Master Ashtan, "What now?"

Vale felt the spot again before replying, "His sudden change in breathing may have jostled his ribs again -"

The boy moaned rhythmically between clenched teeth, his pain in the Force staggering through their bond. Qui-Gon hushed him, running a hand gently along the soft young hair in a soothing manner. Obi-Wan writhed his head back and forth, unable to control himself - the _pain_ -

"Can't you do something?" Qui-Gon could feel his patience growing testy.

Master Vale ran a hand through his wavy hair, "It required hours to ensure the bones were aligned, and lung puncture or collapse is still our biggest fear. Surgery may be needed -"

Obi-Wan inhaled, clutching at the bedsheets, and his eyes rolled back again, revealing whites pallid like his skin. Sone, who was watching the monitors faithfully, spoke then, "He is slipping unconscious again."

"Let him. There is not much we can do for him awake."

Qui-Gon bit off the harsh comment he was tempted to say, finding his young apprentices tensed hand and enveloping it in his own. The eyes returned to Qui-Gon's face, and the Master wasn't surprised; the boy had always been responsive to touch, whether it be physical, mental or emotional. His responsiveness was one thing Qui-Gon admired greatly.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth and weakly fought to speak, his breathes short and strained, "I-I . . . s-sorry . . . so sorry . . ."

"Sorry? For what, young one?"

"Miss . . . mission . . . I-" He groaned, squeezing at Qui-Gon's hand, and the Master hushed him promptly, "No, Obi-Wan. I am sorry. You must get well, then we will speak together. We will have tea and talk of our mistakes. Do not feel guilty for any of this. Do not worry. All you need to do is get well again, alright Padawan?"

Obi-Wan, his eyes closed again, soothed by the man's words, nodded just as Master Vale placed his hands on the boys chest. Qui-Gon tried to shut out the cry of agony that followed, scream, and then the silence. The Healer was deep in the Force by then, as was Obi-Wan in the healing trance.

Sone watched them carefully, and caught Qui-Gons gaze and whispered, "Thank you, Master Jinn. I will inform you when he awakens."

"And when will that be?

Sone hesitated, " A few hours at least."

"Do not bother; we will be gone by then." Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan's hand a final squeeze before rising, making up his mind fully. He would find the assassin and ensure, if only for Obi-Wan's sake, that the mission would not be failed.

Adi turned to face Qui-Gon at his rising, her facial expression confused, "Did I hear you say 'we', as in you and I?"

"If I am going to catch this assassin, I'll need someone to help me."

Adi folded her arms, and though she was amused her voice was stern, "What about your apprentice - and _mine_?"

"They can look after each other." Qui-Gon gathered his robe from the back of his chair, smiling to Adi before heading to the door, "Just like we do."

As the Masters exited the ward, Sone called to them, approaching the two with a clenched fist held out before him. Qui-Gon drew his brow, "What's this?"

"We found this with your Padawan last night. Wondering if it means anything . . ."

Sone gave the Master a small earring, with cerulean gems dangling from silver, and Qui-Gon kept his face drawn, turning the jewelry over in his hand. With a small sigh, he figured where it had come from, and replied, "Return it to the boy. Tell him when he awakens not to worry, and inform Siri to look after Obi-Wan. We will return soon."

Adi said softly, "Let's be off." Before the two began away, Sone calling to them once more, "Where exactly are you going, Masters?"

Qui-Gon glanced back, his stomach still tense with controlled frustration, resentment and flecks of revenge- emotions he knew he should not feel. He repressed them, kept them close in check, before replying and swiftly leaving the Halls, "To find who is responsible for this, and to ensure they are dealt with accordingly."

Thanks for the reviews, they're always appreciated :)


	6. Decisions

Alright, sorry for the wait, here it is . . . (Next chapter will be posted soon as in in the next few days or so) Enjoy!

* * *

For as long as he could remember, Obi-Wan had always seemed to have the strangely consistent ability of persuasion.

As a youngling, he had learned quickly that a few phrases he would say could guarantee him what he desired. "Refresher" would allow him to escape a long or boring lesson, instantly whisked to the nearest one, for he had still been learning to use it then.

"Fire" he had learned when the Temple's cafeteria had experienced a small stove fire, and he would point in that direction if near so, which would usually send his Crèche Master running there and leaving him and his clan to run about on their own.

As an Initiate, he would usually explain to the Master teaching him if he did not finish a project in a certain deadline that he had been "meditating"; it had worked every time, despite the dismay of his classmates at their frequent failed attempts. Maybe it had simply been the innocence about him, but he had taken it in stride, using it only when absolutely necessary.

Now, in his Padawanhood, negotiation was becoming an attribute to Obi-Wan, "as simple as sneezing" as Garen would say with a grin, helpful during missions with stubborn souls or indignant personalities. A steady monotone and harsh gaze to convince a headstrong leader, or a sideways smile and particularly gentle lilt to his voice to seduce a woman into doing what he wished. Without fail, they would do his bidding.

Though, to Obi-Wan's constant annoyance, there was one whom he could not, had never, and never believed he could ever negotiate with. Someone so stubborn, persuasion was as useless as trying to blow over a duracrete wall, as irritating sometimes as nails on a chalkboard, as opinionated as a senator and as wilful as the wind.

And that person was Siri Tachi.

* * *

"I don't want to debate about it anymore. It is not a question anyway, I suppose."

"But it _is_ a decision, one I won't let you make. So you can kiss your silly little catch phrases and negotiation skills all the way to Tatooine, because I'm not changing my mind, Kenobi."

"You can't change your mind on something _I_ decided -"

"_I_ decided that you _can't_ decide, especially since you won't even tell me where you're going."

"I said I can't."

"Right. Yet again, you have unsuccessfully fooled me. Don't be so stubborn, Obi-Wan.

"Me? Stubborn? You've been arguing with me for an hour and you are calling me _stubborn_?!"

"Don't talk to me in that tone! If your Master were here he would not be pleased with you. I've decided your not going anywhere until you tell me, and that's final -"

"You're only fourteen. I am older, and thus can make my own decisions."

Siri waggled a finger at him like a disiplining Master, shifting in the chair beside his cot to lean closer to him, "I'm in charge of you. My Master said so. I said _no_."

Obi-Wan kept his eyes forward, harsh lights still scalding sore eyes, on the face of his comrade aside him, catching Siri's deepened blue eyes, the blonde strands of hair feathering her forehead and veiling her gaze slightly, and not daring to blink. The gentle dimness of the Healing Halls was silent about them though they quarrelled fairly audibly. The soothing morning hours did nothing to ease Obi-Wan, still peeved by the fact he was injured enough to be in there in the first Padawan Healer Sone dabbled around them, checking blood pressure, taking blood, monitoring monitors. He was quiet, like usual, and had decided from the start not to get involved between the two for obvious reasons.

Obi-Wan was surprised his readings were still constant. His blood boiled hotter than his mild fever, and equally thick. He could not let Siri see how aggravated he was, though, or else she would use it against him. Obi-Wan had always had a quick temper, and he fought to keep it at bay. He had no time for this.

Siri took a bite of the fruit she munched on for breakfast. Her young face was smooth with an unwavering spirit, one Obi-Wan admired as well as despised. She continued to watch him tauntingly as she spoke, "I'm tired of arguing for now. So, onto another topic: how are you feeling?"

"Fine. Don't think I've given up on leaving, either." Obi-Wan fought his voice calm enough to speak, shifting his arm in the sling across his chest. He eyed the sweet fruit coldly, "Are you just eating that to bother me?"

"Maybe. You can't eat for at least . . . eight hours. It's only six anyway, and your anesthesia will make you sick -"

"I know." Obi-Wan puffed, his stomach growling for not the first time, "Maybe if you just let me leave -"

"Sone told me you flatlined last night." Siri said in a pleased tone, an Sone nodded to Obi-Wan and said softly, "You have some broken ribs, so take it easy on the whole breathing thing. Your Master said to tell you not to worry."

He only nodded back, annoyed. He licked his lips, the stale and equally awful taste of bacta still present there, but he didn't show anything on his face as he spoke then, to Siri, "Where's Qui-Gon? You said he would be back soon."

"That's what he told me, but Master Jinn's clocks always run slow, you of all people know that. I'm stuck here taking care of you, reluctantly I might add, as I have been for the past . . . four hours." Siri yawned dramatically, "You are even less exciting when you're asleep, Padawan Kenobi."

"Taking care of me?" Obi-Wan squinted as Siri flicked on a bedside glow lamp, allowing him to see clearly her passive expression; he hated being watched after by Siri Tachi. If he did one thing out of place the whole Temple would hear of it, "More like killing me slowly."

"Hey! Don't think I want to be here anymore than you do. I'd rather be out with my Master, saving the day as usual, finding the missing Senator in the lower levels and restoring justice."

"And instead they left you on babysitting duty?" Obi-Wan winced as Sone poked at a bruise on his forehead.

Siri's mouth hardened to a stubborn line of denial, "They left _you_, Obi-Wan. Master Qui-Gon knew you could not possibly handle the mission anymore."

"He said that?" The words were dry and cold as Obi-Wan repeated them to himself, an equally cold bitterness along with it. So that was how his Master felt about it. "You lie."

Siri shook her head innocently, "He was not as concerned about leaving you as I thought he'd be, considering you were close to terminal not more than eight hours ago, but that's Master Jinn. Still, not sure why he did it . . ."

Obi-Wan drew inward as Siri continued her rant, realizing why, recalling again the events of the night former. He could remember vaguely the events of the night, and even less the ones of that morning. His Master had been with him during the long speeder ride to the Temple the night prior, when he had first awoken to pain and darkness and the haggard face of his Master who whispered to him soothingly before he had slipped unconscious again quickly, and in the Healing Halls, even if most of the time Obi-Wan merely sensed his presence.

After what had occurred, Qui-Gon had every right to be upset with him still, but the sting of disappointment felt just as sharp as it had then. He had thought his Master trusted him, or at least would accept his humility about the misunderstanding, but Qui-Gon did not seem all too forgiving, especially by leaving Obi-Wan behind. _It isn't like I broke any rules_, Obi-Wan told himself, _except for drawing from Qui-Gon in the Force, but that had been necessary; it not like I had been trying to _seduce_ the girl. _The loss of Qui-Gon's presence mad him nervous still, feeling shaken from last nights scare, and the Padawan continued even then to be calm. Or at least tried to.

At some point during the dawn, Sone had taken him to the bacta tank, dressed his wounds, and put him in another healing trance, for when he had awoke Siri had been standing vigil beside him, and of all the people to wake up to, she was not on the top of his list. Obi-Wan, by that time, had recalled everything that had occurred, the club, the mission, and his encounters, including his promise to a certain musician.

He knew he would have to get out of the Healing Halls somehow to fullfill it.

His problem? Siri Tachi, the unpursuasable. His always coy, cool fellow protege was looking tired then, nearly as tired as Obi-Wan felt, but he sensed her wit was bright. She had never, in all his years of knowing her, had nothing to say, that was for sure; they rarely ever conversed without bickering. She refused to let him leave the Halls after he had requested seven times. They had been in intense "conversation" over it for a steady hour. Obi-Wan wished it were anyone else but Siri with him. Then again, he wished she would simply let him go, but things never seemed to be simple for him anymore.

With his frustration, mingled, he felt a faint joy at the thought of Miss Morro again and wasn't sure which emotion outweighed the other. How had he forgotten her at all? A smile found his lips as he remembered her all at once, his chest warming a bit. Obi-Wan wasn't sure why he even felt such by simply thinking of her, and knew he had to see her again if only to ensure his memory was as true and wonderful as it seemed. Her soft auburn hair and bright emerald eyes, the simple gift of her earring -

"Her earring." Obi-Wan uttered before he could stop, and Siri halted her banter and shot her eyes to his still slightly smiling face. He vanished his grin and sent his own gaze to his hands resting in his lap, tensed around each other. What had he done? _Fool, fool, always the fool . . ._

The monitors around them beeped a few times. Siri paused mid-chew. Sone halted amidst a flip on his chart. They were all silent for another beat before Siri finally asked, slowly and incredulously, "Whose earring?"

"The . . . the, um, an . . . ah -"

"Stop stuttering like a youngling, Obi-Wan!" Siri reprimanded and swatted his arm, "What earring are you talking about?"

"Ouch! I do have a shoulder sprain, if you don't recall . . ." Obi-Wan rubbed his arm self-soothingly, giving Siri a glare which she returned just as serious and hit him again, and he said between his teeth and through a stifled groan, "_Siri!_"

"Yes, Padawan Siri . . . please, his condition is fragile." Sone addressed the shoulder gently, "I'll get you some more gauze, Padawan Kenobi." He turned to retrieve some from the cabinets behind them.

Siri leaned closer to him and spoke in hushed whisper in Sone's absence, "Just tell me then, and I'll stop!"

Obi-Wan fought the urge to strike her back as he stroked his shoulder, pursing his lips and thinking quickly of what he was to say. How could he explain that a musician at a nightclub gave it to him as a temporary present, and for what reason? A token of gratitude would not suffice, neither would a farewell gift. It had been so much more than that, at least it had felt that way, a shared warmth bright and new. Obi-Wan tried to deny anything else, but his heart still skipped a bit at her name. How could he say anything about it subtly? Whatever he said, Siri would instantly assume he was attracted to her . . .

Obi-Wan swallowed at the thought. Was he?

"Coruscant to Kenobi, repeat, Coruscant to Padawan Kenobi, come in Kenobi . . ." Siri raised he hand for another blow, and Obi-Wan winced as he replied quickly.

"Alright, alright, don't get touchy." He forced himself to continue, speaking quickly to end the moment, "It was a gift from someone at the nightclub."

Siri didn't even flinch.

"I'd think they'd be considerate enough to give you a pair," She held out her hand and opened it, revealing the cerulean gem tangled in a mess of silver and placing it in Obi-Wan's palm.

Obi-Wan glared at her, "You knew?"

"They found this with you when you where admitted."

"Where?"

"In your hand. They nearly had to pry it out. I'm just wondering who would be willing to give away such an expensive looking piece of jewelry."

Siri looked to him astutely, but Obi-Wan kept his head raised, "A musician."

Siri scoffed, raising blonde brows in skepticism, "What, do all performers carry extra earrings?"

"What?"

"Who gives away their earring?" She stifled a laugh badly, "She must be one . . . ditzy performer."

"For your information, she's not ditzy." Obi-Wan was quick at her defense, but was bothered enough by Siri's teasing laughter not to notice, "She's smart. If not as smart as you."

"I'd like to see . . . that proven." Siri wiped teary eyes, still chuckling lightly, "Why . . . did she give you it then?"

"To remember her by." Obi-Wan imagined her small, soft hand placing the jewel in his own, "As a token."

"I'm surprised she could forget such a dashing Jedi as you, Obi-Wan. Why, don't you remember the time you fell into the Crèche's toy bin while trying to carry those lunch trays last week?"

"You told me to go left-"

"Or what about when you tried to prove to Garen you could balance along that fountain and you fell in head first after your third step?"

"You two set me up - you made the edge slippery -"

"The time you ran into the door of your chambers?"

"It was dark -"

"The one time you referred to me as 'Siri-ous' -"

"That was Garen and it was true -" Obi-Wan held up his hand as Siri opened her mouth again, drawing out his first word, "_And . . ._ your point is proven."

Siri sat back in her chair, tossing the pit of her fruit from hand to hand with a slight, sly smile. Obi-Wan set his tone stonily, seeing her mischief as clear as her eyes were blue, "What now?"

"You're going to go see her. That's why you want to leave so badly."

Siri raised her eyebrows and Obi-Wan furrowed his own. Why was she always so delighted at making him so mad?

"I promised her. That's the only reason why." Obi-Wan forced back any other reason with a swallow, "I have to return her earring."

"And that's all you'll do? No funny business?"

The friendship between them prevented any hard feelings, the bickering mostly like that of siblings. Obi-Wan knew Siri would not tell on him, but would not be quiet about it with him either. It was a compromise, he supposed.

"Nothing."

"Alright. I trust you, but if I'm to let you go you have to do one thing." Siri let her voice drop, folding her arms shrewdly, "Enlighten me, if you may, Obi-Wan, on the fact of how you managed to get trampled, because clearly this is a story that Garen and Bant and the rest of the Padawan's deserve to know, as do I especially."

Her humor did not amuse him then, as it rarely did. At least she was negotiating. He looked to her passively, "I was shoved off of a balcony overhanging a mob, two stories high they said it was, and after that I was trampled."

"Good one. I detect lies like a rancor smells fear," Siri smirked, and Obi-Wan managed his no nonesense face.

"You of all people know I only aim to tell the truth."

"You've always had bad aim, Kenobi."

Siri waited, and he sighed before continuing, knowing she'd only pester him until he did. If he truly wanted to escape scot-free, he would have to revisit his experience, as chilling and fresh as it was, "I was trying to eliminate our contact after sensing him in the Force, and I was caught up in a crowd. People were screaming and shoving and firing blasts, and I was distracted for a moment. That was all it took, and I was underneath everything."

Obi-Wan's voice trembled then, and he closed his eyes. His voice was thin and delicate like porcelain as he spoke, as if wary of breaking inside, "Everything was . . . I couldn't move, and . . ."

He laid back and swallowed. He hid a shudder at the thoughts of the throng, all feet and no oxygen, his unheard cries, against the cold permacrete that scraped against his face from the footfalls, strained and coarse. His bones snapping and skin chafing and the stench of alcohol and stone filling his nose and chocking him. The puddles of dirt drowning him, along with insistent tears like that of the little girl's who had cried for her mother, but that he had for his Master -

Obi-Wan's thoughts suddenly dizzied him as he opened his eyes, alarm stabbing like a blade. Siri noticed the change in an instant, and was even quicker to rise and exclaim, "Obi-Wan? What's wrong?! Sone! _Sone_ -"

Siri's face blurred and doubled. The lights were very harsh. He felt flush. He knew what was going to happen.

Obi-Wan arose as a wave of nausea hit him hard in the gut, his body wrenching forward painfully as he heaved. He hadn't eaten in hours, so he only rejected the thin contents of his stomach fluids into the bedpan on his lap that Siri had fumbled around for just in time.

He was paranoid, he must have been. What else could explain the fear that still gripped his heart, mingled with desperation, or the hot terror that raced through his mind? As Obi-Wan retched, he realized this, and grew even more fearful, then of the fear itself. He could never continue his training with such an impairment, and he could not live with himself if such became so.

After a few moments of sickness he forced himself to calm, and stilled. He coughed and spit, breathing heavily again. _Steady, young one_, he imagined his Master whisper while rubbing his back, _steady now._ Obi-Wan figured Qui-Gon saying also to forget the problem and find the solution, with a gentle encouraging smile. _If he still respected me_, he finished, and he swallowed things away.

Sone suddenly appeared at Obi-Wan's hunched form then, his rusty orange skin accented by blue-grey patterns traced along his face sheen with sweat. He flipped through his chart and examined him and checked monitors and spoke simultaneously, "Padawan Kenobi, is your ability to hear me clear, muffled or blocked?"

Obi-Wan winced and raised his hand to his eyes as Sone leaned and shone his finger laser in them, "Sone -"

"Are you experiencing any dry mouth, vision loss or slurred speech?"

This time Siri spoke as she extended a small cup of water to Obi-Wan, which he took and rinsed with slowly, "Sone, give him a break-"

"Who's the chancellor? How many fingers am I holding? Do you know where you-"

"Shut it you nerf-headed twirp!"

Sone stared at Siri and she glared back. He swallowed, tucking his light into the front pocket of his robe, "Right, got it."

"Now, Obi-Wan will be fine. I'm taking him to his quarters." Siri extended her hand to Obi-Wan, and he looked to it confused. She shot him a glare form the corner of her eye and motioned her fingers for him to take it. Was she . . . helping him? Siri leaned closer, taking the bedpan in one hand, but her lips met his ear and whispered quickly, "Go along with me if you want to get out of here, because if we don't do it now he'll keep you in here until you're a vegetable."

"A vegetable -" Obi-Wan was pulled with a yelp by Siri's strength to swing his legs off of the bed, seeing Sone shake his head madly and take to his side, "No, no, Siri listen, Master Vale said Obi-Wan cant even walk for a week, let alone -"

"Get him a wheelchair, then."

_A wheelchair?_ Obi-Wan looked to her with pleading eyes, but she stood indignant. Sone wrung his hands around each other but complied, whispering to himself as he fumbled around in another section of the ward. Soon, Obi-Wan was helped inside and Siri pushed him out of the Halls as naturally as possible, though they received as many strange looks as dirty ones on their fast escape. As they entered the openness of the Temple, Siri wheeled him as close to the exit as she could, a flight of stairs leading up to it, and stood before him. In her hands was his cadet uniform, cleaned and pressed, and Obi-Wan was truly dumbfounded. He met her eyes, his voice expressing his disbelief.

"No criticism intended, but why in the galaxy are you being so nice to me?" He asked, taking the outfit in his free hand. Siri bit her lip, "Well, pity would be a sensible answer, but you know even I'm not that cruel."

She smiled genuinely, morning light making it seem even more true, "You told me the truth. That in itself is to be rewarded."

"But . . . I'm breaking the rules."

"What rules? Obi-Wan, if you don't look for things how are you ever going to find them?"

Siri folded her arms, the roar of traffic behind her tempting. He could not possibly turn away then. A promised made is kept, as Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan had no intention of breaking that rule. What if his Master found out? He was putting himself in a precarious position, and knew so, but subtly cared.

He glanced down to the jewell in his palm, glittering in the morning sunlight, and squeezed it gently. Miss Morro was waiting, and he would meet her.

With a sigh of defeat, Obi-Wan wheeled himself forward, Siri stepping aside as he went to the ramp and began up and out. He heard her cry to him as he reached the top and looked down on her, "Also, when you get in trouble for this, I'll be the first to know!"

"Thank you for your continued support!"

"You're very welcome, Obi-Wan!" Siri laughed as she strolled away slowly, "You're very welcome."

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Thanks for reading! Reviews appreciated! :)


	7. Second Chances

Stakeouts were Qui-Gon Jinn's least favorite ways to pass time - no, maybe it was just waiting in general. Patience, though an attribute of his, was only applicable if he were at peace, quiet in mind and at ease in the Force, which he oft times was. _If only_, he thought ruefully, _one of those times were upon me_. The Master had been working at it through the shallow darkness of early morning, chewing at the guilt and vengeant feelings, the disappointment and regret that lingered from the night. At the pale arrival of dawn, unfortunately, things still did not look any better.

Stroking his increasingly graying beard with a deep sigh, Qui-Gon shifted sore feet, resting on his ankles instead in the shadows of century old buildings deep in the Underlevels. The pasty darkness of night was fading, though darkness was nearly a constant in the lower levels, shadows casting thin silhouettes upon the parked speeders and occasional pedestrian strolling by. Neon lights advertising taverns, nightclubs and other crude attractions lit up the air, thick with early moisture and perfumed with smoke. It hung about them in a fog, a smog really, and gave the place even more obscurity, but Qui-Gon didn't complain. It was what they needed.

The Master, with a breath of refocus, continued his vigil outside of the spotting place, the apartment complex. It was a dingy looking, half-rotting shed of a building compared to the structures in the Upper Levels called the Hotel Vortex, a hotel famous for its frequent crime scenes and criminal sightings, a hideout in plain sight for the suspicious or simply untrustworthy. So far, it had been quiet. Or, as Obi-Wan would say with a concerned bit of a frown, too quiet.

Qui-Gon felt the anxiety in him itch at his senses, and he was never usually this tense, but knew that was due to an ever patient and currently nervous Master Adi Gallia and her ever restless apprentice, Siri Tachi. The two women shared the same expression, Adi's blue eyes shadowed by her headdress wary and assertive, stance relaxed by uneasy, and Siri's younger but equally hued gaze an inconstant stillness. Her form, which was dressed not in Jedi robe but a suit with deep violet painted shin, forearm and chest armor, a belt equipped with two blasters and a fully functional vibroblade that hung from her hip and grazed the ground, was tensed in stature as she bounced a bit on her heels, youthful vigor edging her to action. Qui-Gon felt the same way.

The Council had been quick to decide the Jedi's next step of action in the nearly failed mission, Master Yoda speaking to Qui-Gon and Adi just hours prior and assigning them collaborate and hopefully repair the damage done, if at all possible. Their task was to simply find the kidnapper and rescue the Senator, which would not be too difficult if their next step would go as smoothly as planned. As they had already heard, the assassin was still on Coruscant, mulling around in the Underlevels merely hours after his crime. The Council had figured the assassin was either a rookie, inexperienced or simply unwise, for they did not understand why he lingered not only on the planet of his crime but not even three blocks away from it. The Rodian had been spotted - multiple times - strolling around the Hotel Vortex that morning, looking nothing but suspicious.

Though the Jedi were wary of this odd occurrence, they were not going to miss out on their second and possibly final chance of accomplishing the mission. Both the Masters knew how rarely missions were salvaged, from experience and from common logic, and even though the odds seemed to be in their favour, they both knew their task would be far from easy. So to avoid any margin for error, Master Gallia and Master Jinn, on their swift speeder ride to their location, had devised a plan.

Adi had been the one to suggest that they send someone in to lure the assassin undercover, and they had decided that was what they do, one of them acting as a distraction and gaining information of the Senator's location, and the other to retrieve the senator from his captivity once such was realized.

Of course, Qui-Gon had been the first to volunteer as the disguised. The chances of recognition were eminent, so instead, with much reluctance on Adi's part, they chose another, whisking back to the Temple and whipping up a disguise for her. Siri, of course, had jumped at the chance to go in somewhere undercover, and had helped add to their strategy. The Hotel Vortex was still under lockdown, but disguised as a vagrant Underworlder Siri had figured she could get away with breaking in if possible. After she had contacted the assassin to meet her inside the hotel lobby, the team knew they only had to wait.

Only _have to wait_, Qui-Gon fumed, trying not to remember the hours wasted, for lack of a better word, waiting so far. His mind dwelled on his ill Padawan, lying alone in the Temple, probably still feeling guilty and definitely frustrated by not being able to be with Qui-Gon. The Master tried to ignore the fact that he could have gone to the Jedi Temple and back twenty times to retrieve Obi-Wan, but it kept resurfacing. When had time waiting ever been time well spent?

Qui-Gon sighed, refusing to be annoyed. He turned his attention back to Siri, who was siting information on the assassin Madame Nu had salvaged for them in the Archive Library, from her datapad. Her usual fall of golden hair was pulled back and covered by a dark visored helmet, which sat just a bit too big on her, and it wobbled on occasion as she spoke, ". . . and a potential dataprogrammer, meaning he's good with numbers. He was not born on Rodia, but is said to be currently part of a small cult on a moon called Regime-7 in the Outer Rim. No childhood history that I can see. No listed accomplices, no former training, no criminal record . . . nothing. Is there a skip in the data do you think, Master? This doesn't seem right to me."

"It could be possible." Adi watched the building ahead of them, beyond the rusted durasteel garbage bin they hid behind, with precise intent, though her focus was on two places at once, "Clarify your question for me, Padawan. Does it seem wrong, or does it feel wrong?"

"I'm not sure, Master. It is a combination of both. The information could be lacking due to the assassins low profile. The Archives are rarely ever incomplete, but to have this much information missing is odd."

"Missing, or erased?" Adi asked her apprentice, and Siri shook her head, "I don't know. I still think it feels wrong."

"I know _one_ thing that feels wrong," Qui-Gon put in, and Adi looked to him, confused. He pointed ahead of them, "Hiding behind this garbage storage - hiding, period."

Adi gave him a look of controlled annoyance, which he expected and acknowledged with a shrug. They all were growing impatient, restless, and tired of the smell, even the sometimes unabashed Master Gallia, though she would refuse to admit it.

"I'll reexamine the harddrive just to be sure . . ." Siri's face was tense as her blue eyes roamed the datascreen, and Qui-Gon turned to her a bit, "If you need help, Obi- " Qui-Gon caught himself before he addressed the air over his shoulder as his apprentice, and sighed. He looked where his Padawan would usually reside, on his heels behind him, young face tense and determined, smiling curiously then as the Master observed him, and Qui-Gon had to look away. The guilt was very heavy.

The still subtle vengeance smoldered in Qui-Gon's stomach, doused and cooled slightly by the discipline of his years upon years of training, but still warm and eager to ignite at the chance. It was a dangerous emotion, one he had struggled often with during his times of being a young Knight, in the vigor of his youth he missed and savoured. Always ready at the chance to bring justice, to oppress the oppressor, to rob from the thief, to slay the slayer.

Gradually, with age as all things seemed to come, Qui-Gon had realized his error: his true passion for vengeance had been more so for revenge. An equal action done to one who did it does not justify anything. At the thought of the Rodian man, of the tyrant who perpetrated the club and was responsible for the kidnapping of Senator Dawn, the injuries of the club members in the mob and the near fatality of his own apprentice, Qui-Gon knew if he saw him again, it would be very difficult to spare him. Very difficult.

"Master Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon blinked form his reverie, looking to Siri who eyed him concernedly. She repeated as she readjusted her helmet again, "What were you saying?"

"Right, yes . . . was there a, um, a physical description?"

"Oh . . . I already said it, but I can again." Siri smiled at the Master, "I thought you looked a little distracted at the time."

"More like all the time," Adi put in, and Qui-Gon hit his eyes to her, catching blue with blue. Her face was the expression of serenity, as it often was, a nobility naturally present in her. He admired it, though it often drove him crazy, "I was just contemplating some things."

"About Obi-Wan?"

Qui-Gon didn't deny her, but fell silent, turning back to face the building. No beings roamed past windows, the windows without broken glass or no glass at all, and no sound was heard about them besides the echo of traffic above. Qui-Gon sensed her stare on him, without the Force, and folded his arms as he replied, "Yes. I am beginning to grow impatient, and by the time anything else happens I could have retrieved my own apprentice by now -"

"Yoda only allowed Siri to accompany us, and for reasons you know well of."

"His injuries are not that terrible -"

"He flatlined. Twice."

Adi let the silence convince him, and Qui-Gon couldn't deny it.

"He will not be happy about us completing a mission he failed."

"I don't recall that happening."

"Neither do I."

"Then why don't you tell him? If he feels unnecessary blame, relieve him of it." Adi's tone was serene, as it most often was, though a firmness behind it hinted at her opinion. Qui-Gon had rarely ever been lacking of knowing of her opinion. "His mistakes were no worse than yours, if mistakes at all -"

"Master, can I make a suggestion?"

Bothe Masters looked to the girl, still double checking the information, and Adi gave a nod, one Siri didn't have to break her gaze to see, "If Master Jinn does go back to get Obi-Wan, he won't want to come. Even with the forgiveness he will feel unworthy of finishing things, thinking he'll mess up again or something. I suggest we leave him be. It isn't really your fault, though, Master Jinn. I trust Obi-Wan all the time, even if I know it's stupid. He doesn't admit to anything, even if it's as apparent as a Sith in Temple class, but you'll still believe him anyway."

Adi's silence was one of respect, of contemplation; she frowned slightly, a scrutiny seen in the blue eyes similar to her apprentices. Qui-Gon smiled to himself at Siri's insight, amused by her nonchalance. When she wasn't being chided by her Master to watch her mouth or her manners, she had very intellectual, often witty, opinions she would express, despite possible offences made. Unlike Obi-Wan, she was quick to action and hated delays or anything else that would slow her. Etiquette was only present when needle, likewise assistance, and independence eked though her like a sharp fragrance: all things Qui-Gon's apprentice still lacked.

Siri placed both her slender arms on her hips, and Qui-Gon looked to her again at the gesture of impatience, "You didn't have to come."

"I do not remember the Underworld being so desolate. Isn't anything going to happen?" She asked the question, but Qui-Gon didn't answer, knowing Adi would do that herself.

"This is a stakeout, Padawan. We wait until something happens."

"But after we contacted the assassin, which I did -"

"You did."

"I _did_ - you said he'd come, and he hasn't! How are we to trust a guy like this? If he' not going to show, he must be at least aware we have been waiting. We have places to be. Does he know that?"

Adi waited a moment before trying a reply, "Of cor-"

"Of course he does. And yet, nothing."

Qui-Gon looked to Adi, who rolled her eyes at the impatient young girl.

_Much like you_, Adi said gently through the Force between them, _We should trade apprentices for the day._

_I'm not sure Obi-Wan would take that lightly. He'd assume I favoured Siri over him._

Adi couldn't hide a smile, _You seem to._

_I'd rather have my own. At least he's not so dramatic -_

A figure in the dew flew by, just barely a blur in the haze, but as clear and crisp as ice in the Jedi's eyes. He moved with an urgent, nervous gait, one a bit uncoordinated as feet smacked the moist duracrete, but fast nonetheless. Qui-Gon cursed his aging eyes, unable to see anything more but a vague outline of shape, no face or clothing; his heart raced, that vengeance creeping in on him again, but he ignored it then.

No sooner was Siri up on her feet in pursuit as the assassin passed, following the form around the base of the hotel just as swiftly, slipping behind in in the door and disappearing out of sight.

Adi, who had grown even more tense with her apprentice out of her hands, revealed a comlink from her robe, whispering to Qui-Gon, "Now, the waiting truly begins."

"Great." Qui-Gon huffed, "And I was beginning to think this mission would turn out easy."

"Nothing ever is, Qui-Gon."

"Don't remind me."


	8. Discoveries

(This chapter and the last was supposed to be one whole but ended up being too long, if you're wondering why so fast an update. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!)

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The wheelchair did not bring Obi-Wan any more comfort than it did confidence, but if he were to keep his promise, its presence was necessary. Unconventional in the Underlevels, yes, for not only had it required a half hour to flag a taxi that was handicap accessible, at his arrival at the Crystal Enchantment, Obi-Wan had struggled up a considerable flight of stairs that he had not seemed to take note of before.

The Padawan had hesitated before the door, stomach churning in remembrance. His fear had tickled inside him like in unpleasant sensation, and he had forced it away for Wisper's sake, and also for the fact that he couldn't go crawling back to the Temple with Siri breathing down his neck for details he did not have. He had quashed his fear. He could not let it control him.

Obi-Wan had ignored the welling nervousy in him as he had wheeled slowly into the ruins of the club, putting on an unwavering facade of confidence, one he had held steadily until he found out a frustrating discovery. Today, he had soon figured, was clearly not his day.

* * *

"Not in? What do you mean by that?" Obi-Wan looked over the edge of the half-collapsed bar to the tender there, sweeping broken glasses and another behind him mopping half-flooded floors, who continued cleaning as he rolled nearer.

"There aren't any performers here."

Obi-Wan tried to ignore the skitter of a small rodent out of the corner of his eye, kicking aside with his good leg a drifting slab of floorboard and wheeling closer to the bar, repeating, "Not here? Where are they, then?"

The bartender, a gruffly looking Bothan, barely acknowledged the concerned question.

"I know I'm only a reporter, but I need your help. I need to know where a performer is." Obi-Wan continued, dejection tensing his eyes, "If something happened last night, I have to find her."

The bartender scoffed, "Look at this place. Something definitely happened here."

"Please sir." Obi-Wan considered using a bit of Jedi persuasion since the Bothan was not willing to cooperate, but the being met Obi-Wan with small dark eyes, surrounded by reddy-brown fur, and huffed.

His voice was like a deep, rumbling engine, coarse and thick as he spoke, and Obi-Wan took ear attentively.

"Listen kid, if you haven't already realized, this place is trashed. The owners have cancelled any and all performances until we get things sorted 'round here, so she's not here because she's not performing. She doesn't even have a kriffing stage to use!"

He was right, unfortunately for Obi-Wan. The place was destroyed. Few employees were scattered around the main floor, moppping and throwing out trash, in attempt to salvage the club, but it was hopeless. Soon it would become another condemned, abandoned building of the Underlevels, a hideout for junkies and rats and mold and decay.

The rank stench of stagnant water and smoldered fires filled Obi-Wan's nose along with the scent of spilled alcohol, and any previous sophistication the Crystal Enchantment had held was lost with last nights incident. Wind whistled through broken windows and walls, scarlet paint peeling away from them, and surviving cushions and left behind scarves and jackets floated in the water that would have come above Obi-Wan's ankles, if he could stand.

_Good riddance_, he was tempted to say, but with the eradication of this place of revisited fear, the memories of another lingered, memories quite the opposite from the former.

Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder to the tiny entertainment area in the distance a few feet away, to the small tables and chairs surrounding a little stage with scarlet curtains, stained and dripping dirty water. Floor boards were smashed and caved in a hole where she would have stood, and Obi-Wan's lips turned, imagining her in her harmonic splendor that night prior.

The smile faded just as soon as it began, his heart sinking in unknowing anxiety. It had only occured to him on his taxi ride there that he didn't know where Lystra was, or if she was hurt, or even still alive. His hopes were pierced by feasible queries.

Could she have been killed like Emalie for talking to him? Was she poisoned hours ago like the waitress? Obi-Wan had asked the staff if they knew anything about the club's manager, the bartenders about any funny business mixing drinks the night former, but all were denied. He had suspected the poisoning hadn't been a bribery, for such never guaranteed complete secrecy, it had the risk of witnesses spilling their information. The assassin, as experienced or naive as he was, had at least thought of that detail and had done the deed himself.

Obi-Wan was tempted to believe the kidnapper had gained his kill and would not seek out the Jedi for nearly foiling his plan, but he had obviously not been pleased if he had risked his cover in attempt to kill them.

In truth, he had really no way of knowing if any of the staff were safe speaking with him. If it was revenge the assassin was out for, and the kind Obi-Wan knew of, no one would hinder his thirst for it. If Wisper was alive, she could be in a dangerous position also; that meant Obi-Wan needed to find her. Quickly.

The thoughts had quickened his breath with dread, and Obi-Wan swallowed and breathed out his doubts. _She has to be safe_, he soothed himself, _I would know otherwise. _

The Bothan watched the boy glance about then, softening his tone at the visible disappointment before him, ". . . I suggest you move along, boy, before I kick ya out. This place is dangerous, especially for someone in your condition."

"Do you know where I can find her then?" Obi-Wan didn't expect him to know, but he was desperate, "Or anyone? I know it is a lot to ask, but . . ."

The bartender sighed, setting his broom down and leaning large, hair covered forearms on the counter, defeated and annoyed, "Who ya lookin' for?"

"Wisper Morro." The name was a delight to say, "Young girl, brown hair, around my age."

"Don't know many twelve year old performers in the under levels," The wink was subtle, as was the joke, but neither were amusing to Obi-Wan at all, "She left a note here this mornin'."

"Really?"

"Ya think I'm lyin? She came in and dropped it off. What's ya name?"

"Ben." Obi-Wan strained his neck to see the folded piece of flimsi between the Bothan's thick fingers, "Just Ben."

The note was flicked over the counter, landing perfectly in the boys lap, and the Bothan waved him away as he gathered his broom again, "Go on, now."

Obi-Wan nodded his thanks, rolling through the watery sludge a bit unsteadily to the exit, where he eagerly opened the small torn square of paper; on the back side were staves with scribbled notes - her music paper - and the other his name scrawled obviously in haste. The contents were hardly any more legible:

_Ben_

I was so worried last night when the alarms went off; I thought for sure you were hurt. Some performers and I escaped through the fire exit, but I wanted to find you. If you are reading this, please follow the written address. Do not delay, for you are only prolonging my worry. - Lystra  


"Street 759; floor 17, room 731 . . ." Obi-Wan mentally repeated the directions, tearing the note to shreds as he wheeled out the exit. He had no desire for anyone else to find her but himself, finishing the directions before chanting them again, and again, ". . . the Hotel Vortex . . ."

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Thanks for reading! Reviews appreciated!


	9. Uncovered

_**(So, probably wondering why not an update, right? Me too. In all honesty, I love this fic, but my plot bunny has hopped somewhere hither and yon, and just recently she's returned. Yes! So, I super-edited this chap 'cause I thought my last ones were pretty ... alright. Like I always say, reviews+feedback appreciated! Thanks for reading!)**_

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Three quick knocks. Obi-Wan was tempted to peek through her mail slot, for he was nearly level in his wheelchair, but he fought the thought away. He knocked again, rousing another muffled, "Shut up!" from the inhabitants across the hallway.

The sickening scent of smoke eked from the carpets in the dingy hotel, hall lights flickering with age and floorboards worn and squeaky. The lopsided, half upside down numbers of Lystra Morro's hotel room swished and dangled as Obi-Wan rapped once more, wondering how such a girl as she could survive in so . . . modest of circumstances. _Then again_, Obi-Wan countered, _this is the Underlevels._

He had been waiting, knocking, for a good amount of time, and knew he had only a little amount of time to spare. _And a little means means less than an hour._ Obi-Wan hoped to himself that Siri's stalling skills were better than he remembered them being. The Padawan was in awareness of the consequence of leaving the Temple without permission, and also of leaving in his still . . . broken condition. Qui-Gon would be nothing less than furious. Or, he would give him the silent treatment; either way, they were both readily avoided. He had a purpose to accomplish, to find out if his hunch about Lystra being involved with the Jedi was true. That and that only, or so he continued to tell himself.

Obi-Wan let out a soft noise of impatience, wheeling closer to the door then -

"Hello?" The door opened just a little, enough to see the profile of Lystra's face behind the doors chain-lock, her emerald eye and lips in tense expression. Obi-Wan barely realized how happy he was to see her again. She looked about curiously, warily, and then down to him subtly. "Ben, oh, thank goodness -"

"Here." Obi-Wan said, reaching in his pocket and holding out her earring carefully. Lystra really looked then, the door closing and opening as she unlocked it, and her eyes were soft on the jewelry and his face as she spoke, "You kept it safe. Even after . . ."

The guesture to his slings and bandages was followed by a laugh, and Obi-Wan smiled to her as she opened her small hand, revealing his pin - or, his fathers. Their eyes shared something then, and Lystra blushed a bit as she asked, "May I keep it? I know it is your fathers, but -"

"No. I mean, yes, I insist, please-" Obi-Wan sighed, and Lystra laughed at his fumblings. He took a deep breath, "Yes."

"Thank you." She hid another smile, one sly, "Now, I assume you are here for an interview. Come in, please."

Obi-Wan followed her inside, just as the kettle upon the stove shrilled, and Lystra went with light steps to her kitchenette to silence it. Her apartment was modest - just as cluttered as she had warned - and cozy. The dinge and drear of the Underlevels seemed imperfectly wonderful in her tiny room, mottled sunlight hitting scattered music sheets and instruments lying about her floors, walls adorned with posters of musicians and composers. Obi-Wan was intrigued, as always by the ways and lives of others, but intensely so by the place and her. He gazed about again in admiration from his wheelchair in the centre opposite to Lystra's sofa, just as she returned, nearly burning herself on her tea.

"Would you like some?" She offered politely as she set the tray of drink and sweetbread upon her low table between them.

"Yes, thank you."

Lystra was still dressed in her nightgown, the hour fairly early, but she had not a care. Obi-Wan did not either, as long as she was safe, though his suspicions were still heavy upon him. There was something he sensed still, though he had already determined things were fine in the Force. Something felt unfamiliarly familiar, oddly out of place. Like his Master would say, "A gundark in nerfs clothing." It did not soothe him, but put him on edge and aware.

He decided to ignore it then, for he did not want to let her sense it, knowing she could, voluntarily or not. At the thought, feeling that her senses were lowered, Obi-Wan probed lightly in order not to disturb or alert her. As being only a Padawan, he knew his skills of such were not of utmost ability and he could not pinpoint anything out of the ordinary.

He did notice, though, how the early sun hit her auburn hair loose around her, revealing a faint redness to it. Obi-Wan ached to touch it, remembering how it had fallen perfectly around her face the night prior, admiring its softness. His fingers trembled as he reached -

"I apologize for being so rude the last we met." Lystra glanced up at him and he clasped his hands together quickly, seeing as she hadn't noticed. "When you were only trying to be polite."

"I'm sorry for rushing off like I did. My father wasn't exactly pleased with my disappearance."

She smiled, "Whoul you like sweetener? Cream? I don't have much to offer."

"Cream is fine." Obi-Wan replied, outstretching his hand again, for a different purpose, "Please, let me. I'm not immobile -"

"But you're hurt. It's my fault."

"It isn't your fault -" Obi-Wan went to take the glass cup of cream with his good hand, but Lystra took it from him.

"It is!" She prepared his cup generously, "I knew . . . you shouldn't have been talking with me."

"That is not why I was injured."

"But if you wouldn't have, you probably could have escaped unharmed." Lystra looked to him sympathetically, "I barely did. Do you even know what happened?"

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, considering whether or not to explain the whole ordeal, "My father and I were trying to uncover and put to rest a rumored assassination attempt on Senator Thor-Chio Dawn. I was . . . I suppose, distracted by talking with you, and my position watching the Senator was compromised. The assassin got away with him, after breaking out a riot, and I was trampled in the mob."

Lystra nearly spilled the tea she poured at his words, startled, "Trampled? And what of the assassin?"

"I'm not sure." He lied cleanly, "Though I suspect that the plot was skin deep, after I was nearly poisoned."

"Assuming, now, that you are not really a reporter, you must avoid poison often?"

Obi-Wan accepted the drink from Lystra, and her emerald eyes smiled to him at his reply.

"I suppose so."

She sat back upon the sofa, settling down with a paper and writing device, "Well, we can still do the interview anyway."

"Alright. Did you want tea?"

"No, I'm fine."

Obi-Wan tasted the hot glass offered carefully with his good hand, inquiring at its pungent scent and flavour, "What kind is this?"

"I ask the questions, sir." Lystra mocked lightly, stating it just as he had yesterday. Her green eyes danced with pleasure. The interview had only just begun, but she was clearly enjoying it far too much. "Alright, question one: do you have other family beside your father?"

"No, just him and I now." Obi-Wan tensed his voice, although it was naturally at the mention of his Master, trying to imply discomfort with the topic. He sipped his tea, grimacing at the taste before continuing, "I don't like to talk about it."

"My parents . . . are both gone," The blunt confession caught him off guard, but Obi-Wan wheeled himself closer to hear her lowered voice, "I cannot remember them anymore."

"So, you didn't tour nightclubs with them?"

"That was just a cover I used. If people knew I was an orphan, I'd be much worse off." Lystra shrugged, a bit sadly, with a subtle smile. Obi-Wan ached to tell her the truth about his own circumstances, seeing her inhibitions around her falling, but supplied his reply from his cover.

"My father . . . is a peace-maker, my teacher, and I his successor. I live a fairly sheltered life still, and my presence here is highly unapproved by him." Obi-Wan gave a smirk he couldn't hide, "But I don't mind."

"Me either." Lystra agreed with genuine heartfelt, and giggled completely out of the blue. He grinned at the sound involuntarily, at her inexplicable sense of joy -

The knock at the door released a groan from Lystra, and her hesitation was palpable. Obi-Wan nudged her with his foot when she only sat and stared, and the knock was heard again as he asked, "Are you going to get that?"

"You do. I'm not home." Lystra smiled, and Obi-Wan's reluctance showed on his face.

"Then what am I doing here?"

"Please?"

Why was it that he could not bear to refuse? With a huff he complied, wheeling quickly to the door to open it. The beckoner met his eye to eye, just a child it was, and Obi-Wan would not have been surprised if he was just looking for money; he appeared to be a vagrant, wearing dirty worn clothes on his small thin frame, his hair dangling before his eyes and probably not cut for months. Obi-Wan recognized the face after a moment, realizing just who it was, though he did not believe himself. "You . . . you're not the kid . . ."

"Who shot you in the face?" The grimy little child asked back, wrinkled brows over his green eyes deepening their expression, "That would be me. Who are you?"

"Why would you be knocking if you didn't know who lives here? I should ask who you are."

"_Lystra_ lives here, and my name's Jemitt. Jemitt Ontaph." The boy outstretched his hand, "Most people just call me Taph."

"Ah." Obi-Wan shook the tiny hand as he glanced up and down the boy's tattered looking clothes, still slightly confused. He suspected he knew Lystra well enough to call her 'Lystra' and not 'Wisper', but why, he wasn't sure.

Taph bounced on his heels, waiting patiently to be let in.

"If you're looking for Lystra, she isn't in."

Obi-Wan went to close the door, but the boy stuck his little boot in the doorframe, peeking in and giggling, "Are you one of her 'guests'?

"'Guests'?" The implication sent a pulse of suspicion inside the Padawan, one he damped before replying and folding his arms, "What do you mean 'guests'?"

"Lystra always invites boys to her room, you know, for dinner and things."

"And things?"

"Yep. She always sends them to the door the next morning."

"The next _morning_? Wait -"

Taph nodded innocently, "She keeps it secret -"

"Taph, if that's you, I gave you ten credits last night!"

Obi-Wan turned his head exasperatedly to Lystra at her call, looking for help, but she didn't move.

"You know how much good that did me!" Taph looked impatiently at Obi-Wan, gesturing to the door, "Ahem?"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, releasing the door, and Taph skipped inside to Lytra's couch and took a seat beside her despite her exclamation. "Taph, I have a guest!"

Taph shrugged, hopping off the sofa and taking a long gulp from Obi-Wan's teacup. Lystra shrieked, utterly distressed at the show, snatching it from the boys hands and scolding like a mother, "Jemitt! That's enough!"

Obi-Wan chuckled softly, commenting as he rolled back, "So you do know him; this is the kid who gave me a black eye."

"Taph!" Lystra looked furious, and Taph only shrugged again, wiping the remains of the tea from his lips on his sleeve.

"Of course she knows me, silly! I'm her -"

Lystra hushed him concernedly, a signal in her eyes Obi-Wan saw, one to tell the child to keep quiet about something. But he had already noticed what he suspected they were hiding; he saw an uncanny resemblance about them, their similar tone in banter, their eyes. He couldn't help but ask.

"Are you two . . . siblings?"

They both looked to him and laughed instantly, and Obi-Wan folded his arms, waiting for it to die down, "It is a fair question, in my defense."

"Taph is my nephew, Ben." Lystra ruffled the boy's hair, "My brother's son."

"Brother?" Obi-Wan wondered how that detailed had not been mentioned, but by Lystra's tone it seemed like another sore spot.

"Brother." Was all she said, looking to her hands, and Taph tensed visibly at the mention of his father. Obi-Wan sensed both their apprehension, and did not want to prod.

"Tell me of it later."

"Right. Taph, we have an interview to do -"

"Ji sent me here to tell you he's coming." Taph mentioned with a yawn, laying down on the couch and closing his eyes. Obi-Wan wondered how the energetic child had become so sleepy so suddenly, but his attention was drawn to Lystra, her eyes lit up - in a bad way. She shook Taph awake, "Ji's coming here?"

"Ji?" Obi-Wan asked, "Who's this? Another unmentioned person?"

A cry was heard below them, a shout of protest, and Obi-Wan tried to hide his sudden alertness in the Force. The presence felt familiar. The assassin.

"Hopefully that isn't Ji." Lystra said, and the sound reoccured just as loud as before. Obi-Wan knew she could feel the tension, by her distressed, bewildered expression. He could not have lead him here -

They all jumped as three blaster shots were heard. Taph moved protectively to Lystra's side and took her hand, hiding behind her.

"Come on," Obi-Wan said hastily, leading them out the door, and hiding his nervousy best he could.

Upon racing down the hallway leading into the lobby, the three had come to find the noises increasing, the shouts and cries. Obi-Wan stopped them just as they neared the end, finding a substantial group of disturbed hotel inhabiters huddled around the door leading into the lobby, making a fuss.

It had only taken moments for him to realize. _A crowd_. Obi-Wan's palms began to sweat, and he stopped short before it, clenching hands around his chair arms. The unavoidable memories resurfaced, plaguing, and at the haggard breathing from his chest he started a Jedi breathing technique to calm himself. He would have done anything to simply turn about and go back to Lystra's room, but he was not about to prove himself a coward in her presence.

"Are you alright?" She asked concernedly, and he forced a nod, reaching in his pocket to grab her earring, squeezing it tightly.

"Follow me." Obi-Wan said to Lystra, and she grabbed his wheelchair and Taph's hand. The Padawan took a breath and lead them on, rolling forward quickly in his chair through the crowd, pressing them as close to the door as he could. At the exit, a terribly angered Twi'lek pounded a fist onto the door with a furious shout, and Obi-Wan asked him above the noise, "What's going on?"

"They locked this door!" He snarled back, giving a curse filled phrase with his next shout.

"Why?" Lystra covered Taph's ears at the swearing. The Twi'lek turned to her and spat, "Haven't you heard? They've come for the assassin."

"They who? Police? Bounty hunters?"

Amidst this, Obi-Wan had managed to peek out into the reception area through the small space between the doors, making out two forms clearly in a brawl. One was young man dressed fully in black, and the other a humanoid in dark violet armor. The man, pressed up against the reception desk then, must have been somewhat trained, for his next kick and block was rehearsed, natural. There was something in the other one's fighting style that Obi-Wan knew he recognized, but could not pinpoint; neither of them were the assassin, thankfully, but why were they fighting?

"Aunt Lystra, I'm tired." Taph rubbed his eyes, still clutching Lystra's hand with his other, but she hushed to him quickly and scooped him up onto her hip.

"What's happening?" Lystra leaned down amongst the people and whispered urgently to Obi-Wan, concerned by the continuing scuffle. "I thought you said you didn't know about the assassin?"

"I didn't." Obi-Wan replied, "But why don't we find out? Tell everyone to back up."

"Why?" Lystra looked to him, bewildered, as he wheeled backward a bit and cried, "Stand clear! Please, watch out!"

The crowd mumbled stubbornly at the cry, the one Lystra joined though still confused, and after a moment most moved back and gave him clear view of the door. Obi-Wan rolled near the door, placing a hand upon it and using the Force to unlock it. He paused a moment, listening to the silence behind him, and with a shove pushed it open, releasing a joyous cry.

"How did you do that?" Lystra asked, shouting over the noise.

Obi-Wan shrugged with an innocent smile, "I have escaped by bedroom quarters from time to time."

The crowd dissipated out into the open space hastily, Obi-Wan leading Lystra out to the side to avoid the charge, seeing the scuffle from the battlers in the centre of the room had ceased instantly. Hands released arms and shoulders, kicks stopped mid-air and punches withdrew. They pushed away from each other as the throng rushed around them and out the exit, breathing harshly as they tore their locked gazes.

The man, who was dressed in a long dark robe with a high necked tunic, noticed Lystra quickly and rushed towards them, hair a white blonde that he straightened then, revealing his intense brown eyes. Obi-Wan instantly could tell he was no one to kid around with, stature stiff and serious. His aura in the Force was neutral, a bit too neutral for Obi-Wan's comfort. A shrouding type of neutral.

"Thanks a lot for your help!" Ji cried, approaching Lystra mere inches from her face, "I was runninc all over the Underlevels, getting concerned about things, and you're just waltzing around your hotel with one of your boyfriends!"

"Ji, he's not -" Lystra tried, but Obi-Wan interjected to her, "One of them?"

"He's kidding." Lystra said, though her tone did not convince him, "Ji, calm down. He's our -"

"You didn't even contact me, and I had to send him -" Ji gestured to Taph, who reached out to him sleepily, "Ji . . . !"

"Hey my little Jawa, how are you?" Ji took the chid in his arms, who slept instantly in the embrace, continuing with Lystra, " - to come get you! We're all in an uproar because Emalie has gone missing -"

"Emalie?"

Both Lystra and Obi-Wan said simultaneously, and they looked to each other in confusion.

"Do you perform at the club with Lystra?" Obi-Wan asked Ji, and he wrinkled his brow.

"Lystra isn't a per -"

"Ji!" Lystra cut him off urgently, "What's with you? What did you think you were doing? Who is that?"

"Who's this?" Ji asked in defense, and Obi-Wan stood from his chair, tired of being below the action. Balancing on his good leg and looking Ji in the eye, he replied with annoyance, "My name is Ben -"

"Ben?" The form in the armor said from their place across the room, pulling their headpiece off and shaking yellow hair down and catching fierce blue eyes with Obi-Wan's. His frustration was suddenly forgotten, for it was then when he sensed Siri Tachi's presence. _No, it can't be_ - She hadn't followed him, had she? And what was she wearing?

Siri put one hand on her hip, directing her attention to Obi-Wan. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Obi-Wan couldn't reply, puzzled beyond comprehension. His head began hurting suddenly, and his chest felt heavy, If she saw him there, with Lystra, he knew Qui-Gon would not go without hearing about it. She has meant to rat me out the whole time!

"Do you know her?" Lystra asked, a confusion in her eyes, and Obi-Wan stumbled on his tongue.

"I . . . she, she's not - I mean -"

"Hey!" Siri exclaimed with a warning he knew well, "Don't you even dare to say you don't, Kenobi!"

"This is Kenobi?" Ji jutted a thumb to Obi-Wan, "You were supposed to bring him to the Jump two hours ago! He is our contact, right?"

Lystra was blank-faced, quiet, implication sent from her eyes to Ji's, and Ji looked to Obi-Wan in realization. Obi-Wan, however, looked to Lystra, confused.

"Contact?" He questioned, though it was more of a statement, one demanding explanation of all the strange coincedences that didn't quite match up. She shot her eyes to him, a coldness to them seen. Obi-Wan felt his stomach twist sickeningly. Something was going on.

"Ben, I -"

The Padawan's light-headedness overwhelmed him, his feeling consciousness skewed, hazy, and he faltered nearly, feeling weak as a child. He maintained his balance, holding out to Lystra her earring once more.

She gazed at it, but her emerald eyes no longer sparkled. They were dulled.

"I should have known." Obi-Wan managed, words nearly slurred as he tried to focus on the cold gaze staring into him. He stumbled, and she reached to steady him -

Darkness.


End file.
